The Epilogue
by azurelacroix
Summary: Sweeney Todd. What if Lovett had managed to dodge the oven?
1. Gaol

_Forward_

_This is not your standard Todd fare, but the character representations would probably be best compared to the Sweeney Todd revival in NYC, if it does not in fact follow the same 'asylum' frame. One point I would like to clarify- at the time I started writing this, I had not seen the revival. Now that I have seen it, I can safely say it will probably not influence my work all that much, as the attitudes of my Todd and Lovett, and Michael Cerveris' Todd and Patti LuPone's Lovett are in fact virtually the same by coincidence. As for appearances, I made a point to try and depart slightly from any current or past representations, though there are similarities. The two main personae dramatis may be described as such: _

_Todd is a man of 45 or so, about 6'2 with a broad muscular frame, pale skin and dark flesh around light blue eyes. He has thick lips, high cheekbones and a full head of dark brown hair. He has vestiges of handsomeness, but time and suffering has made his appearance more forbidding than anything._

_Lovett is a woman of 40, or thereabouts, about 5'11, with fair skin, red hair that is usually tied up, and hazel eyes with crows feet around them. Because of her dress and hairstyles, she often appears older than she is. _

_In general, I have tried to stay loyal to the characters and tried to keep all changes as realistic as possible. I have also introduced some original characters and used elements of the hypothetical historical account of the real Sweeney Todd. Some of the places and names mentioned here are real places and real people of historical origin, but for the most part (excluding the Sweeney Todd characters) this story is my own fabrication. _

_I also have to give serious props to my beta reader, Thessaly. She is hands down the most dedicated, thorough and grammatically nitpicky beta I've ever had, and this fic would've shrivled up and died long ago if I hadn't had her to bounce off of. Her creative and semantic imput is invaluable. Cheers, doll._

_Without further ado..._

* * *

Mrs. Eleanor Lovett had been born into a large family consisting of three brothers. At any given time during her childhood, she could be found in their presence, sharing in their games, wrestling with them for a bit of toffee, a toy truck, or a penny found in the street. Their mother had long ago given up the effort of preventing little Nellie from joining in the sibling rivalry. With her tough little fists and quick reflexes, Eleanor found she could defend herself quite effectively. She grew up poor and resilient, and struggling against a long legacy of failure and poverty, she had made something of herself. And damned if she was going to die like this. 

Mrs. Lovett brought one heel sharply down on Sweeney Todd's foot, ducking away from the hot oven as he winced with a yelp. She dropped to the floor, and scrambled to reach the straight razor that he had carelessly dropped beside the meat grinder. She folded it in her hand, hiding it as she scraped her way to the other side of the meat grinder. Todd let out a vehement hiss, his eyes glittering with malice, the same crazed malice that appeared every time he spoke of the Judge. He advanced on her, throwing the heavy grinder to the side with a crunching metal crash.

Mrs. Lovett cowered against the floor as his hands reached for her throat. Suddenly her arm shot out, the razor clutched in her hand. Todd tried to dodge, but she was too deft, and caught him across the cheek. He roared as a searing flash of pain clouded his vision for an instant. Blindly, he batted the razor from Lovett's hand, receiving another cut across his hand for his trouble. Before Lovett could crawl away, he pinned her to the floor. She writhed against his bulk, pummelling his ribs with her fists and struggled to get her legs to bear so she could knee him, but his strength was too great. Maddened and frenzied, Todd closed his hand around her throat, crushing her windpipe. Lovett's eyes watered, her mouth working as she fought to breathe.

She hazily observed Sweeney Todd's bared teeth as he smiled viciously, filled with the sickening satisfaction of victory. Her hand searched for the razor, but found it too late. She was weakening, her vision turning dark. The last thing she perceived before unconsciousness was the dark shape of a constable uniform, and the meaty thunk as a billy club impacted the back of Todd's head.

Darkness.

---

Sweeney Todd, once Benjamin Barker, gasped at the scent of the smelling salts as they were waved under his nose. He was seated in the middle of an illuminated room. Squinting from the bright oil lamp, he raised a chained hand to the back of his head where he found a thick knot. He raised his head to observe his surroundings. It was a room, dark, comprising grimy brick. A barred window allowed in minimal light from the dawn.

"Mr. Todd. Or would you prefer Barker?" A sanctimonious voice intoned from behind him. Todd struggled to look behind him, but his legs were chained.

"You don't know me, Mr. Todd. But then, you've been rather indisposed as of late, or so I hear tell." The man paced around the chair, and Todd was able to get a better look at him. He was a tall man, wearing a black tailored black suit. Todd noted his impeccably trim moustache, and the slick way his hair was combed back. And how he smiled unpleasantly.

"My name is Sir Inspector Richard Blunt. I am your interrogator."

Sweeney Todd raised his bloodshot eyes to the man and smiled, his expression full of contrasting eeriness, making Blunt's smug arrogance wither at the edges.

"Oh, is that what you are?" Todd choosing his words carefully, suspecting James would reveal how much they knew of his crimes. "Is this my time to confess? Or would you like to ask me questions, first?"

"Well, I was going to charge you with attempted murder, but then your friend Mrs. Eleanor Lovett told us a rather interesting story. As you can imagine, it has shed considerable light on many recent disappearances," Blunt said, his voice full of purported menace. Todd was hardly impressed.

"And was _my friend_ Mrs. Lovett kind enough to include the details about her own participation in this story you found so interesting?" he asked as he cocked his head to the side.

"She brought it off as though she was forced into it. I thought perhaps you might help me revise that thesis. She seemed rather too eager to convict you."

Todd considered him for a moment, the cogs in his mind turning. Naturally he expected Mrs. Lovett's treachery. He had to admire her gall- the woman simply had no virtue at all.

"You will find evidence of Mrs. Lovett's involvement in the cellar of the bake house."

James stood up.

"You're not denying your involvement?"

Todd fixed a belligerent look on the man, but didn't answer. Sir Blunt got up and made for the door, a thick wooden appointment with rusted hinges.

"Oh, and Sir Inspector - one more thing."

"Yes?" Blunt demanded haughtily.

"You will also find evidence in the pies."

James frowned disbelievingly. "Pardon?"

Todd didn't bother looking at him, but watched the sunrise through the barred window. A ghost of a smile crossed his face.

"The meat pies, Sir Blunt. The meat pies."

Blunt swallowed, and loosened his collar, his countenance becoming slightly green. He quickly exited the premises. Todd smiled to himself, his thoughts turning to Eleanor Lovett. He would see that she would accompany him to the gallows.

Mrs. Lovett had been standing all night. Her aspirations to gentility prevented her from being seated on the floor- it was unmannerly and humiliating. She had persisted for hours, leaning against the corner of the five by eight cell, until finally her legs lost their strength and she sank to the straw covered floor. The heavy door swung open, but she was too exhausted to bother trying for escape. Two burly policemen hurled a large figure through the door. In the darkness, Lovett couldn't make out his face. He scrambled desperately for the door but it slammed heavily before he could reach it.

With a heavy sigh, Todd turned to examine the other occupant of the room. Mrs. Lovett glared at him like a threatened cat from her position in the corner.

"Of course," Todd said with an ironic air. He stalked over to the opposite corner and slid down into it, examining the jail cell with loathing. It was the second time he had been consigned to such a place before trial.

Lovett didn't say anything, but continued to stare, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her arms around them. She pressed her back against the grimy wall and tucked her chin against her arms.

"Well?" Todd demanded, one eyebrow arched.

Mrs. Lovett looked away from him, unusually silent. It irritated him, this lack of reaction. He was used to her loquaciousness. He stood up, and paced the length of the wall, pausing by the barred window.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't strangle the life out of you," he asked dryly.

Lovett shrugged. "They'd hang you without trial."

"True. But you needn't fear, my love," he purred venomously. "I'd really prefer to take you with me to the noose."

Mrs. Lovett narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, you are a brute," she said, her voice weak but tone venomous. "All your talk about vengeance and salvation, trying to make something moral of your plight. All lies. You did it because you liked it."

Todd glared at her for long moments, before speaking up. "And you. Did you not enjoy the deceit? Did you not enjoy the clandestine money and the power? Did you not enjoy usurping _her_ place?"

His teeth were grinding visibly, and Mrs. Lovett cowered against the wall. He crossed the room in one stride and grasped the collar of her dress, shaking her.

"Did you enjoy it, Eleanor?" he spat as she whimpered. "_Did you!_"

"Yes!" Lovett cried, tears springing to her eyes as she tried to claw his hands from her. Making a sound of disgust low in his throat, Todd released her, shoving her back into the wall. He stalked back to his corner and slid back down to the floor.

Mrs. Lovett stared at the floor though a haze of unshed tears. Her eyes wandered over to the window, which late November snowflakes had just begun to penetrate. The grim cold light fell travelled inch by inch until it fell on her face. She stared at it, a small up welling of fear rising in craven heart.

"Mr. Todd..." she murmured. "What are we going to do?"

Todd looked at her, arching one brow.

"Do? We'll go to trial, where we will surely be convicted. They'll cut off your hair and pull out my teeth before they hang us. After we're dead, they'll cut us open, do experiments on our insides and then send the rest of us to be hung in the gallows as a warning to other barbers and pie makers."

Mrs. Lovett stared at him for a moment, before softly uttering the syllable: "Oh."

Todd rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Sailors and Saturnine Thoughts

It was very early in the morning when Mrs. Lovett was dragged from her corner. She let out a gasp of surprise. She hadn't even been aware of falling asleep, her vision leaving off from their frigid stone reality and translating into dreams. The two burly policemen had returned, and had her by the arms. In the opposite corner of the tiny room, Sweeney Todd was pressed against the grimy wall, his arms petulantly crossed while a third bobby had a rifle levelled at him to prevent his escape.

Mrs. Lovett was still blinking the sleep from her eyes as the manhandled her down the ill-lit hallway to the same investigation room in which they'd demanded an explanation the night previous. It wasn't as brightly lit as before, but dimly illuminated through the barred window. Sir Blunt sat at the table, a plate of fish and chips piled high and steaming before him.

Having not touched food in over two days, Mrs. Lovett eyed the plate with longing. She was sat down in an uncomfortable wooden chair by the guards. Blunt smiled at her.

"I'm so glad you've decided to cooperate with us, Mrs. Lovett."

"Who said anything about cooperating? You've got it in for me, too, same as Mr. Todd," she said nervously, licking her lips as she watched the steam rise off a piece of white cod.

James frowned, putting on a great show of sincerity. "Now who told you that?"

"T'would have to be stupid, I would, not to figure...that..." Lovett trailed off, her mouth watering.

"There's a very good chance you could come out of this, Mrs. Lovett, if you give us what we want," Blunt said conversationally as he popped a chip into his mouth. Patronizingly, he licked the remaining grease off his fingers.

"What do you want?" Mrs. Lovett asked weakly.

"Nothing much," Blunt said as he appraised his fingertips. "Just the truth."

"Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd!"

The youthful voice clamouring outside his cell door was a familiar one. Todd scrambled to his feet and went to the door.

"Mr. Todd, you have a visitor." the guardsman outside drawled. The normally bright face of Anthony Hope peered through the bars, pale and drawn. Clearly the events of the last few days had taken their toll on him. Todd was making up his mind as to whether he cared when Anthony began to speak.

"Oh, Mr. Todd, why have they locked you up? I told them I could vouch for your good character..." Anthony trailed off and he must've turned to the guard, for his voice was plaintive. "Sir, will you open the door and let me in? I'm in no danger from him."

"My orders-"

"DAMN your orders!" Anthony roared, surprising both Todd and the guard, who quickly opened the door to the cell. Todd didn't bother making for the door again. Instinct told him that escape would be aided now by subtle methods and not brute force or strength of will.

"Anthony," Todd began urgently, trying to suppress a villainous smile. "They're saying I'm the cause of all these disappearances, but you mustn't believe them! Someone..some man, some vile and corrupt man has been framing me all along for his crimes."

"I knew it!" Anthony declaimed, and took his friend's hand. "Is there no way justice can be done upon him?"

"None that I know of. Anthony, I am innocent and they are determined to hang me. There's but one way out of this fix, and I need your help."

"It was you who gave me and my dear Johanna quarters during that awful night. I'll do anything I can to help, Mr. Todd, anything!"

Todd allowed himself one, small smile. A fool, but a useful fool.

"Excellent. Now, listen closely..."

Anthony had since departed, and it was past noon when Mrs. Lovett was returned to her cell. She bore signs of mistreatment: in addition to the necklace of bruising from Todd's attempt on her life, she also wore the faint red shape of a hand print across her left cheek. On one hand, such impropriety made Todd bristle. On the other, he ought to take savage delight in seeing her brought so low. As it was, he felt strangely divided on the subject.

Additionally there was the matter of the planned escape. Mrs. Lovett was presently the unknown quantity. If he brought her with him, he'd more than likely have to kill her later. If he killed her before Anthony arrived, he would have to explain her death to him, something he did not particularly relish. Anthony may not have been the brightest star in the sky, but eventually he could put two and two together with the aid of some damning gossip. As much as it would satisfy his lust to revenge Lucy, killing Mrs. Lovett would be an inconvenience, not an aid.

_Shouldn't indulge yourself, you know. _

Those mocking words rang in his mind as he watched her cringe on the floor. She had told him that once, after his very first. He remembered having thought the woman simply had no compunctions at all. And it hadn't bothered him one bit. Considering recent events, why should it bother him now? Her object, as it were, was his affection. It shouldn't have surprised him when she lied. In some ways, he really did admire her total lack of virtue. Her transcendence of the laws of mortals. They were equals on that plane. They fit well.

With a small hiss, Sweeney Todd flung that thought from his mind. What did it matter what they had in common? She had betrayed him...she had _wronged_ him, and she would pay, just like the Judge, just like the Beadle. It wasn't a matter of if he would kill her, but when.

But for now, he needed her alive and complacent in order to convince the sailor. He needed her to trust him again, if he was going to escape this gaol.

Mrs. Lovett wheezed slightly, holding a hand to her ribs.

"The truth, they say. And when I try to tell it..they..."

Her hair had come undone and was flowing down her back in a twisted mess. It had the effect of making her look younger, closer to the 40 years that she was rather than the 50 she generally looked with flour in her granny knotted hair, and the crows feet at her eyes. Exhaling a heavy breath, Lovett leaned against the stone wall, her hand still clasped to her side.

Todd pursed his lips, and then crossed the room in a single step. Her watery eyes widened, and she immediately slid away from him.

"No, you don't. Don't you come near me, d'you hear?" she growled, trying in vain to suppress a note of fear in her voice.

"I just want to see. If they've broken any ribs, I can set them," he said matter-of-factly, tilting his head to the side. "If you'd rather go on with them, suit yourself."

Mrs. Lovett inhaled to fuel another retort, but let out instead an anguished moan. Still clutching tightly to her abdomen, she sank to the floor, tears of pain flowing down her cheeks. Taking it for assent, Todd cradled her pathetic body in his arms as he undid her worn leather corset. She opened her mouth to protest vehemently, but weaker plaints reached his ears.

"You've still got it in for me. I remember," she raised a hand to touch the ring of bruising at her neck, but winced instead.

"I seem to recall similar sentiments from you, Mrs. Lovett," Todd said as he tapped the half healed slash on his cheek. Heaving a sigh, he pulled her corset away from her body and gently laid a hand over her cotton shift. She fought the urge to cringe as his fingertips lightly explored her rib cage, finding no broken bones.

"Badly bruised, I think. But try not to exert yourself. In fact, I think it's best you sleep."

Todd's words fell on deaf ears. She had fainted, verily, sprawled across his lap like a penny dreadful damsel. Grimacing, he carefully lifted her body and set her down in the bed of straw. He would wake her again when they brought the bread and water.


	3. Witness

"Now, you listen to me, lad-"

"I WON'T!"

"You must tell us everything you saw! Everything you heard, do you understand?"

Tobias 'Ragg' Reginald clung to a leg of the butcher table, his entire body cringing against Mrs. Lovett's grimy floor. Sir Blunt was trying his hardest to present a facade of friendliness, but Toby knew better. When he spoke, it was with the innocent poetic eloquence with which he had first admonished the constables for entering into his mistress's bake house.

"You must understand, sir, I should expect a slash were I to divulge such things." His voice quivered. "And my mistress will hear not a word against him, so I must...I must remain silent!"

"Surely now that Mr. Todd is in prison, you are safe from him?" Blunt reasoned.

"Don't say it!" Toby cried, his eyes glittering with fear. The two policemen looked at each other. What had the boy seen?

"Say what, lad?" Blunt knelt now, peering under the table at Tobias.

"That _name._"

Blunt heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Why don't you think on it. There will be a reward for you if you cooperate. You could go to a boy's school and learn a trade. There would be money in it for you."

"I have my orders," Toby said stubbornly. Sir Blunt gazed at him for a moment, and then pushed himself off the floor.

"At the very least, you should leave the bake house. You're half starved, lad. You can let us fix you up at the inn, no charge."

"You mustn't ask me again about the demon barber," Toby said softly. "It'll be my death and yours too."

"Very well. But will you come?"

Toby considered, and then slowly released the table leg. Shaking the dust from his now white hair, he rose from the floor and let out a sigh as he made a few staggered steps towards the policemen and their captain.

"Thankin' you kindly, sirs...I should like to sleep."

With that, he pitched forward in a dead faint.

--

"I am NOT eating that." Mrs. Lovett wrinkled her nose as she stared down at the crust of gray bread. Despite beatings, abuse, and near death, her attitude had returned with her appetite, and neither were going to be appeased by what she saw on her plate.

"What did you expect, woman, roast pheasant?" Todd scoffed at her. "It's all you've got and probably all you will ever get, so shut up and eat it."

"And this place, it isn't fit for a pig to live in, neither." she added as she stood up, moving gingerly. After a few hours sleep, the bruising still pained her, but not nearly as badly as it did before.

"Mrs. Lovett, how is it possible you can be so undeniably stupid?" Todd snarled. "They mean to hang us. Do you _really_ think they care what state we're in when they send us to the noose?"

"Then I think they ought to treat us kindly, don't you? That would be the right thing to do," Mrs. Lovett grumbled as she stood on her toes, trying to get a peek out of the window.

Todd laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. "When did you ever care about right and wrong?"

Mrs. Lovett turned her eyes to him. Her gaze was cold, colder than he'd ever seen. It was a hint of the true state of her soul.

"Never," she said softly. "When you grow up like I did, in a world of drunks and louts and murderers and whatever else, you can't afford morality. We can't all be gentile toffs like you, _Mister_ Todd."

"And yet you expect kind treatment."

"It's high time I had it, don't you think? Haven't I earned something for the pains I've been through?"

"The pains _you've_ been through?" Todd exclaimed, his voice full of incredulity. "Never mind the Judge violating my wife, never mind his ill designs on my daughter, and then your outrageous claim that you deserved my affections more than Lucy-"

"Like she could've given you any kind of solace, that half dead street rat-"

Mrs. Lovett let out a cry as Todd pitched the wooden plate at her. She ducked as the plate shattered against the wall. Todd lunged at her, his hand raised, but she dodged away from him, so his fist impacted stone. He hissed with pain and turned to face her, her arms crossed before her face.

"You are VILE," he informed her, breathing heavily. "A vile, cruel, evil little she-devil of the Pit."

"Oh, quite a laugh," Mrs. Lovett spat as she lowered her arms. "You slashing throats right and left. That's all you'll be remembered by, your razor and your madness. D'you think anyone will ever think back on you with pity? And your LUCY, well-"

Todd made a queer exhalation of breath, lifting himself slowly as if to strike again. But Lovett pressed on.

"You sullied her good name when you were arrested first, but with your bloody vengeance now, they won't even remember her except as a pitiful hag that YOU murdered."

"SHUT UP!" Todd roared, diving towards her. But Lovett evaded him again, this time pressing herself against the wall opposite. Growling, Todd again turned to face her, eyes glittering with hate.

"Say whatever you like about me, Benjamin Barker," Mrs. Lovett breathed caustically. "But you were the one who made murder into whimsy, and you paid for it with her life."

"It should've been yours." Todd said with vehement pleasure at the idea.

"The only justice in that is the kind you made up, same as the kind the Judge made up when he first saw your wife. You're no better. It makes your tragedy false," Lovett said, each syllable damning and resentful. Every muscle in Todd's body seized, desperate to make an end of her, to break her flimsy little neck...

But his intellect told him differently. If he wanted to survive this- and he did, despite himself -he would have to swallow his pride and his hatred. It was a painful effort, but he pushed himself against the wall and slid back down to the floor.

"You're right," he said harshly, the words catching in his proud throat. "I have no place to judge you."

Mrs. Lovett blinked. Her expression went from disbelieving, to confused, and finally to graciously righteous.

"Well, then. As long as that's settled."

She eyed him dolefully for a moment, and then went to gather the pieces of the broken plate.

"I'm still going to complain about the food."

Behind his back, Todd was clenching his fists in an effort to prevent them from flying into Lovett's pouting face.

--

Tobias was frightened. He already indicated as much to the police, and they promised his safety, but it did nothing to allay his fears. Though, he couldn't deny that the bath had been fine, and the meal even finer. It was good to sleep now between clean sheets in a room that didn't stink of rot, devoid of ghastly windy hallowing. Hot soup was even better, cleansing the stigma of those hideous pies.

He was clean now. But despite this, despite the good food and the calm room, the fresh clothes and the promise of advancement, Toby Reginald was afraid. He could hear urgent tones behind the thin wooden door. He crept out of his bed and padded over to the door, pressing his ear against the soft wood. Through it, he heard voices he recognized, that of the guard, Constable Mallory, and Sir Inspector Richard Blunt.

Toby liked Constable Mallory far more than Sir Blunt. Mallory was kind and soft spoken, charitable and easy to trust. It would up to him to arrange Toby's transfer to St. Mark's Country School for Boys. It was a boarding school, Toby knew, but he didn't mind. It offered him betterment, he knew better than to resent the chance.

More importantly, Mallory had offered him houseroom until it was time to go to St. Mark's. Toby had not words to express his gratitude for this kindness, this salvation. They had insisted on one thing, however. Cooperation concerning Mr. Todd.

Toby didn't like to think of Mr. Todd. He couldn't straighten out his mind about the man. One occasion, he had seen the barber shedding tears over a fragment of sewn linen. On another, he had spied the epilogue to the bloody massacre of the Beadle Bamford and watched as Todd had laughed over the body. At first, it was a tiny 'ha'. Then it had grown into a sickening whoop of mirth, until he was stamping with glee. Finally after he had recovered himself, Toby watched with horror as he reverently cleaned a razor that was dripping with what was most assuredly blood before stowing them back in its case. When he had taken these suspicions to Mrs. Lovett, she had reacted with incredulity, avoiding his exclamations and his concerns.

Mrs. Lovett. She was there now, Sir Blunt said, with Mr. Todd. Toby had seen their struggles from beneath the floor, peering between the slats of the cellar door. He had seen the vicious conflict between the two, the two remainders of Todd's escapades in the tonsorial parlour lying bloody and pale on the bake house floor, but he had not witnessed the actual demise of either the Beadle Randall Bamford or Judge Thomas Turpin.

Toby considered this as he listened to the rumblings beyond the door.

"I don't see why you're bothering to take so much time with this, sir. You don't usually have qualms about sending your lot straight to the gallows." Constable Mallory's tone was a scoff. He didn't approve of the unctuous Sir Blunt, and that was one of the reasons Toby liked him.

"I contend that neither of the villains need a trial to prove to my satisfaction what occurred here, but since the crime in question involves a judge of the higher circuits, the Courts of Justice are keeping a particularly keen eye on things. They insist that I must follow the formula to the letter. It's troublesome, yes, but that is why I need you to keep a handle on our witness. His is the most damning evidence, but Constable, you must extract it from him!" Sir Blunt sounded irked and impatient. More so, he sounded bloodthirsty, and that disturbed Toby.

"I'm just saying, it won't be easy. The boy was frightened badly by the man, and he needs someone to guide him through this."

"It's excellent that you are concerned, Mallory. Because, you see, I am not. I need information, not melodrama. I need something to put the nail in their coffin."

"I really think the best way to get cooperation is to gain confidence, sir, so I must ask you not to badger the lad. He's been through enough."

"Just as long as you get the job done."

"How long until you plan to go to trial?"

"Preferably next month, but that is unlikely. Once the public defenders get involved, they'll push it for as long as possible, and they'll demand separate trials, but I plan to try and negotiate clemency for the woman if she testifies against him. You can count on at least three or four months."

"So Mrs. Lovett is your job, and Mr. Reginald is mine."

"Exactly."

Toby was brighter than he ever got credit before. He connected three or four months with the length of time until he would have to speak before a jury. He shuddered at the thought of Mr. Todd's eyes on him.

But he knew that sooner or later he would have to pay what he owed in return for this kindness.


	4. Mrs Lovett's Defender

Johanna was quietly congratulating herself. When Anthony had arrived at their third floor one bedroom flat that evening, bursting of news about Sweeney Todd (who he had mentioned on a great many occasions) she had patiently listened to his outrage at Mr. Todd's incarceration, his despair that he had done so little to help Mr. Todd, and his reminders that she should be thankful for Mr. Todd, because were it not for the shelter of Mr. Todd's tonsorial parlour, she and Anthony might not be married now.

Johanna had been kind and quiet, receptive and supportive. But she could not prolong the inevitable for another minute. Setting down her needlepoint and casting a wary glance over the modest, but friendly surroundings of their apartment, she finally returned her gaze to her earnest husband.

"You know I appreciate all that your friend has given us, my love, but..." Johanna began, her hands reaching up to toy with her braid, a compulsion Anthony recognized as a representation of her nervousness. Quietly, he took her hands.

"Johanna, you haven't met the man, but he is our greatest friend, I promise you. I must do this, for him _and_ for us."

"But Anthony, springing a man from jail? We live as best we can on your pension until the inheritance comes through, but I dread to think of what would happen should I lose you! You promised we would go to Plymouth."

Anthony knelt down and took his wife's face in his hands and kissed her forehead and her lips.

"We'll get there, soon, but I must do this first. Please trust me?"

Johanna sighed, and adjusted Anthony's white collar, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Of course I trust you, darling. But you must promise me you'll be careful."

"You know I will be," Anthony protested.

"Promise!" Johanna pressed, her blue eyes intent.

"Alright, alright, I promise." Anthony relented, letting his head drop into her blue linen lap. Johanna stroked his dark curls with a hand becoming proudly calloused from the care of her home.

"Good. Now, I want you to go the butchers while I'm at the grocers. Since you're so intent, we can start by making a food basket for your friends."

"Whatever milady wishes."

---

"Mr. Todd! Mrs. Lovett!"

Sweeney Todd rumbled with displeasure at being awakened. This early in the morning, MacKenna's thick Scottish brogue was particularly unwelcome.

"Your solicitors are here."

Todd lifted himself off the floor and made his way to the small window in the door. The stubble- covered face of the guard blocked out the light as he scowled through the bars.

Mrs. Lovett muttered in her sleep and rolled over.

"Get against the wall, hands over your head. Both of you!" MacKenna barked. Todd nudged Lovett with a toe, but she groaned and blindly tried to bat his foot away. Todd bent down and grasped the back of her bodice, hoisting her bodily into the air. Mrs. Lovett let out a yelp as she was tossed against the cold stone wall.

"Alright, alright!" she surrendered, letting out a yawn. Pressing her face against the wall, she closed her eyes as she laced her fingers behind her head. Todd shook his head and followed her motions, only his body was straight backed and alert. MacKenna marched in, followed by two other guards. He prodded Todd in the back with the muzzle of the rifle.

"We're going to the lavs, first. You stink," MacKenna informed him. Todd rolled his eyes as he was marched out of the cell. A resounding thump, that of Lovett sliding down the wall and back to the floor, was audible just before the slam of the door.

"Lieutenant MacKenna, I challenge you to spend days at a time in a cell without washing and see how sweet you smell."

MacKenna guffawed heavily.

"Point taken, barber. We assumed you had higher standards, so unless you'd like to meet your counsel smelling as you do-"

"The thought is tempting, Lieutenant," Todd commented as he observed the long row of cells. The concrete ring of floor around the edges of the building created a great hollow in the middle, reaching from floor to ceiling. It was a familiar sight, one he'd seen before during his first incarceration. Newgate Prison.

He suppressed a shudder as they marched him down to the tiled bathroom. Knowledgeable about this place as he was, he knew that the washrooms doubled as a kill floor, the tile easily cleaned by hose. He was ordered to strip and did so without showing a hint of modesty, despite the jeering comments from the guards. The cold spray from the hose pipe was uncomfortable, but far better than the scalding water they had used on him before shipping him off to Australia. They had gone to lengths to humiliate him and abuse him that time, and he couldn't help but wonder why they didn't take the same measures now. Perhaps that was a question for the lawyer, if the man was to be trusted. Most likely they had assigned him some unenthusiastic public defender, someone of little use.

In fact, now that he thought about it, surely this good treatment was highly irregular. But there was no time to dwell on it now. He was given fresh clothes, a white lawn shirt and trousers. He wondered vaguely if Mrs. Lovett was receiving the same treatment. That is if he bobbies had managed to get her awake, a job he didn't envy them. He knew how difficult it was to rouse her from slumber when she didn't wish to be roused.

His hair was quickly combed, and face shaved with hasty proficiency. The barber was a skittish young man who gave a nervous twitch as Todd's eyes scrutinized him. His hands itched to seize the straight razor, but he restrained himself, relaxing the muscles in his jaw to allow a cleaner, smoother shave. He was then given a black ribbon with which to tie his hair, which was in need of a trim. Then he was made to wait outside one of the interrogation rooms.

Similarly, sleepy Mrs. Lovett was receiving as good, if not better, treatment as Mr. Todd. She had been allowed to bathe comfortably, was given a much needed washing of the hair and a clean black hobble skirt with a high necked white linen blouse. After her hair was respectably pinned, she was lead up to the comfortable lawyers parlour, a pleasant room decorated with velvet drapes, soft couches and a mahogany coffee table.

A thin man of just beneath six feet stood at the window, his thinning hair combed back. Large owlish spectacles covered his face, but they couldn't hide the beadiness of his eyes. Mrs. Lovett looked him over, deeming his navy blue frock coat and polished shows to be respectable. In an attempt to get his attention politely, she cleared her throat. He spun around, fumbling with his pocket watch as he tried to return it hastily to a pocket.

"Oh, beg your pardon, miss...missus...er, you must be Mrs. Lovett." He took a step forward and held out his hand, cheeks a violent shade of red. Mrs. Lovett, caught in the middle of taking a seat, took his hand and smiled vaguely, negotiating her way down to the ottoman.

"They told me my solicitor was here..." she muttered uncertainly.

"Oh, dear, I haven't introduced myself," the man continued, flustered. "My name is Norwood, Hans Norwood. I'm your solicitor." He looked as if he were about to snap in half.

"I'm Mrs. Lovett, Eleanor Lovett...but you knew that already, didn't you?" she said, trying to smile encouragingly. Clearly the man was more nervous than she was. "Why don't you sit down next to me, and we can start again?"

"I apologize, I'm not normally like this," Norwood said as began to dry wash his hands. "I've never defended a...a..."

"Criminal?"

"A woman," he corrected. Mrs. Lovett took his hands to still them.

"Well, you needn't worry, Mister Norwood," she said reassuringly. "I'm not as bad as all that."

An idea was forming slowly in her twisted little mind. She hadn't quite grasped its significance yet, but she trusted her own demented brilliance to reveal a plan. Norwood, on the other hand, fell headlong into her sweet and easy demeanour, completely oblivious.


	5. Cowardly Counsel

Michael Oberlin glanced at his pocket watch under the pretense of checking the time, but in truth he was investigating his reflection. He was still examining his blonde eyebrows as Sweeney Todd was pushed through the door.

Oberlin's first impressions of Mr. Todd were that of a handsome man whose vitality had been drained away. Well tended dark hair, high cheek bones with thick lips that emphasized an omnipresent sneer, while his pale face and the unnatural dark circles around his eyes made him seem wan and corpse-like. However, his eyes themselves were actually more disturbing: a pale, feral blue, full of wolflike curiosity and hiding a smouldering killer instinct.

Sandy haired, brown eyed, and dandily dressed Oberlin suppressed a gulp. A presence had walked in with this man, one he had never known in all his years of defending crooked clients.

Todd's first impressions of Oberlin were immediate and easily identified: he wanted to kill him. Something about his weak jaw, his fine cream silk suit and his dainty hands made Todd want to hang the solicitor up by his ankles, slit him groin to belly and watch him bleed out like a slaughtered pig.

Quietly, he smiled, and calmly took a seat at the scrubbed wooden table. Oberlin remained standing and finally pocketed his watch.

"You're late, Mr. Todd," he said crisply, his posh accent polished and practiced.

"This is a prison, Counsellor," Todd rasped, tilting his head. "Prisoners don't make their own time. But you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, well. I suppose you're right," Oberlin said, rattling the change in his pockets. "Though I hardly think it matters, don't you agree, Mr. Todd?"

Todd arched a brow. Something was quite right here.

"Explain," he ordered softly, eyes boring into Oberlin's.

"Oh, Mr. Todd," the solicitor laughed a silky, insincere laugh. "Surely you don't expect anything but a death sentence?"

"Not from my solicitor," Todd replied, growing more irked by the moment.

"Let's not waste any more time than necessary with naivety, Mr. Todd. My name is Michael Oberlin," Oberlin began, his voice full of lacklustre rigamarole. He continued, his tone becoming more condescending. "It's my responsibility to make sure your trial is swift. And swift it will certainly be. I suggest you cooperate, if you want your remaining weeks to be comfortable."

The expression on his face was an ugly one. Pompous. Todd hated pompous in a man. Slowly, he stood up.

"Since you are then determined to send me to the gallows, allow me to be equally frank," he said mildly, tilting his head. Oberlin withered slightly: Todd dwarfed him by several inches. "If they are to hang me, I will be certain to demand an appeal. And, of course," he paused, adding the slightest stress- "a _private_ consultation with you, my good solicitor."

--

"Mrs. Lovett-" Norwood began timidly. Deftly, Mrs. Lovett interrupted him.

"No, no. Call me Eleanor." She fluttered her eyelashes.

"Eleanor," Norwood repeated, blushing slightly. "The police have authorized me to make a deal with you. They want you to testify against Mr. Todd in exchange for your freedom. After the trial, that is."

Mrs. Lovett considered this. On one hand, she would be free, and alive. On another, despite his recent attempts on her life, she wasn't quite certain she wanted to help them send Sweeney Todd to the noose. Despite herself, she still had vague designs on him. Though, he certainly deserved death for his malice towards her. Better to weigh her options before she decided on anything.

"Oh, Mr. Norwood, that is ever so kind," she said, her voice feminine and flowery. "I am dreadfully frightened of him."

"Oh, my dear woman," Norwood took her hands in his. "I'll petition to have him removed from your cell immediately!"

"But wait," she said quickly. "If you do that, he'll know that I was set to turn against him. Leave me with him and he'll think I'm going to be tried with him. It would be much easier to get him to say something, something you can use..."

"It must be something damning! You must be careful, Mrs. Lovett! I mean, Eleanor." Norwood loosened his collar with one hand before returning it to hers. "Are you certain you can keep his confidence?"

Biting her lip to keep herself from smiling broadly, Mrs. Lovett nodded slowly.

"Then you are a brave and noble woman indeed."

--

Tobias had enjoyed the jostles and jolts of the carriage right for the first hour, but it had begun to grow dull. He wish he had a bit of string to play with or perhaps some paper to draw on. Had he been able to read, he would've wished for a book.

_You're going to learn how to read_, he reminded himself, a small bubble of excitement rising through him. Men who could read dressed smartly and made plenty of money. And Toby loved words. He loved to learn new ones and repeat them over and over again. He would like nothing better than to learn to write them, over and over again.

On the other side of the cab, Constable Mallory was snoring gently, his bowler hat tipped over his eyes. Toby sighed, and propped his arm against the cab window. It became mistier the farther away they got from the city, but Toby didn't mind the damp. It was soft and dark over the clean green grass. Moss covered wooden fences lined the fields, charming barriers between neighbours who surely could not be as vile as the residents of Fleet Street and its environs.

Such thoughts soon led him back to Mrs. Lovett. Just the thought of her left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could ignore the bodies, the blood, and the meat. But he couldn't ignore what had been said.

"_You planned this," Todd accused, his eyes full of hellfire as they alighted on Mrs. Lovett. Her eyes danced over to the meat cleaver sitting beside the grinder. Todd dropped the beggar woman's dead body as Mrs. Lovett lunged for the cleaver. Quick as a flash, he caught her around the waist, pulling her tightly against his body as he encircled her with thick, muscular arms. His entire demeanour had changed from mournful agony to feral viciousness. _

"_Now, Mrs. Lovett," he scolded. "You weren't planning on going anywhere, were you?"_

"_N-no..."_

"_Thinking of taking my head?" Todd hissed, dipping his head down to look directly into her eyes. "Hmmm?"_

"_I wasn't!" Lovett protested weakly. _

"_Shhh..." Todd kissed her lips gently, slowly manoeuvring her in the direction of the hot oven. "I forgive you. Live and let live, right?"_

"_R-right..."_

"_My pragmatic little vixen," his voice switched from sickly affection to a dire hiss- "I'll remember you...fondly."_

_Her eyes widened as he made to shove her in the oven. She grappled with him, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt and stamping sharply onto his foot. Eventually they wrestled each other to the floor, snarling and struggling, each trying to deliver the death blow to the other. _

_Toby had witnessed this all through a crack in the trapdoor. When the police came, he remained beneath, trembling uncontrollably and did not emerge until hours later when Inspector James had returned to inspect the premises with his constables. _

"Tobias, lad."

Toby looked up and realized Constable Mallory hadn't been sleeping at all.

"Yes, sir?" he asked, voice full of apprehension. He was afraid they would take this opportunity from him.

"You're sure you don't remember anything else...?" Mallory's calm brown eyes were reassuring as he lifted his hat away from them.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but all I remember is what I told you."

Mallory set his hat down on the cab's seat and leaned forward, folding his hands.

"What about earlier. When did you begin to suspect something had gone amiss?"

Toby scratched behind his ear for a moment, and then glanced out into the misty moor.

"Well, sir, I began wondering some time after Mrs. Lovett hired me to help with the customers and cleaning up and the like. Before that I worked for Signor Pirelli."

"Who is Signor Pirelli, Tobias?"

"Oh, he was a barber. I don't know where he is now."

"What happened to him?"

Toby squirmed a little in his seat, chewing on his thumbnail. His gaze was still fixedly pointed outside.

"I'm not perfectly sure, sir. I saw him go up to talk to..to talk to..._him_...he had beat the Signor y'see, at a shaving contest. Governor wanted to go see about getting the bet money back. And then..." Toby trailed off, frowning deeply.

"Yes?"

"I remembered...he had an appointment with his tailor. I went up to tell him, but he," he shuddered, working visibly to make himself say the name. "_Mr. Todd_ told me he had gone on urgent business. But I hadn't seen him leave and I told _him_ that I ought to have stayed until the Signor came back for me."

"And then?"

"And then...he...Mr. Todd...he told me I could have another pie. And...a big tot of gin."

Mallory's eyebrows shot up. "Gin?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you remember what happened after that?" he urged. Toby scratched his head.

"No..can't remember after that. Slept some in Mrs. Lovett's parlour."

"I see..."

"But, but," Toby hurried his words, as if he were afraid he might forget. "...I do know...that I had felt wrongly about _him_ after I saw customers go into his shop and never come out again. I feared for Mrs. Lovett. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen to me. And then I saw she had it."

"Had what, lad?"

"Signor Pirelli's purse. She had it and she said..that..._he_ had given it to her."

"Mr. Todd had given it to her?"

"Yes," Toby confirmed. "Yes. Said he'd bought it at a pawn shop, but I know, sir, the Signor would never have sold it."

"And it was in Mr. Todd's shop that Pirelli had disappeared?"

"Yes, sir. Is that...is that good, sir? You're not going to send me back, are you, sir?" Toby asked, his voice rather higher than usual.

"No, lad," Mallory laughed. "That merits the reward we've promised you. All you have to do is sign a statement to that effect, and you'll be free."

"I won't have to speak in front of people?"

"No, lad. We've decided to keep you out of it. And we'll keep your location a secret, too."

"They say...they...them..they're going to hang Mr. Todd no matter what."

"Well, that's _almost_ certain. But not completely."

"Oh," Toby's face fell.

"But don't worry, Tobias," Mallory said, taking Toby's hands. "I have orders to keep you safe, and there's no way Mr. Todd could find you. After all, he's in prison, with no contact in the outside world. He's completely in the dark. Don't let him trouble you any longer, lad."

Toby couldn't look at him as he murmured the words: "Thank you kindly, sir, but I think Mr. Todd is going to trouble me until the day I die."


	6. Certain Luxuries

"Lock pick, wire, stamps, parchment, pens, ink, wax, matches, rope..." Anthony frowned down at the kit, certain something was missing. Staring up at the dusty ceiling of the apartment, he attempted to recall, until: "Oh, right, filleting knife!"

Tightening his dressing gown, he tiptoed over to the kitchen drawers and removed a wicked looking boning knife. Examining it for a moment, Anthony felt something troubling stir at the back of his mind. What could Mr. Todd possibly want with a filleting knife? But then there must be plenty of uses for a knife to aid a prison escape. Surely Mr. Todd would not kill a man unless he had to. And was he not fully in his right, considering?

While that didn't make complete sense, the ex-sailor filed such concerns into the recesses of his mind. He owed Mr. Todd his happiness. His wife would not be sleeping ever so prettily in their bed were it not for Mr. Todd.

_Even if he did kill the judge_, he reasoned, _he did it to free Johanna._

Yes, that made perfect sense. More at ease, Anthony stowed the knife among the other contents awaiting delivery to Mr. Todd.

---

The aforementioned had just been returned to his cell. Mrs. Lovett was already there, toying with a piece of thread she had pulled out of the hem of her dress. She had been allowed to keep the fresh clothes, and for fourteen pence each time, she would be allowed to have them washed. She smiled to herself, the glow of pleasure evident in her face.

"What are you so pleased about?" Todd asked her, more curious than contemptuous.

"My solicitor is looking into my accounts, so that he might...erm...how did he phrase it? Secure certain luxuries on my behalf."

"Lucky you." Todd said wearily, sliding down the wall to his now familiar corner.

"In any case," she continued proudly, stretching her feet. "It means I ought to get a bath now and again, and my clothes will be kept in order."

"How lovely," Todd's lack of enthusiasm escaped Lovett entirely. Pursing her lips, she twisted the thread.

"I was thinking of letting you have in with some of it, too..."

"Joy."

"You needn't be like that, Mr. Todd," Lovett sniffed haughtily. "The only reason I offered was because I don't want to smell you rotting in your own skin. Unless of course your lawyer is going to manage for you."

"Hah," Todd laughed mirthlessly, his voice betraying a measure of exhaustion and doubtfulness. "I shouldn't think so, Mrs. Lovett. You were clearly more fortunate in that regard."

"Pity," Lovett said, secretly pleased. There was power to be had in such a position. Todd let his body sag against the wall, his eyes closing heavily. But he couldn't help thinking that it was something of a coincidence that Mrs. Lovett's solicitor was so accommodating, and his so hostile.

_One might think they were deliberately favouring her over me..._

Oh.

Todd's eyes immediately snapped open with the realization. Mrs. Lovett had retired to the opposite corner, still playing with the thread. They must be manoeuvring her into testifying against him. Todd licked his lips. To let them turn her against him would spell doom for his escape plans. If he was to prevent this, he must start restoring her confidence in him sooner rather than later.

"Perhaps, if you could arrange it, I might give you authorization to dip into my accounts as well," he suggested, watching her closely.

Intrigued by his sudden interest, Lovett cocked her head to the side. "How do you mean?"

"Well," Todd began, shifting over to her side of the cell. "I have a great many items of significant value...stashed away, so to speak."

"Come off it," Mrs. Lovett yawned. "Do you really?"

"Mmm," Todd leaned in, his lips an intimate distance from her ear as he whispered the cunning details. "You might tell your lawyer friend, mightn't you, my dear. He can pawn them for us."

"Us? What do you mean, us?" Mrs. Lovett frowned, instantly suspicious.

"I mean us. You and I," he reached out and took the string from her. Gently, he drew it across her cheek.

"Now, Mr. Todd," Lovett said firmly, pushing his hand away. "You mustn't tease."

"I never tease, Mrs. Lovett."

"I don't believe you."

"Have I ever lied to you?" He wasn't quite sure why, but he was stung by her rejection.

"They would...use it as evidence against you, you know," Mrs. Lovett pointed out. Then she mentally kicked herself, wishing she had not mentioned it. Todd surely wouldn't give her the location now.

"Tell him they're yours," he suggested, surprising her. "The items are jewellery, watches, things of that nature. All would fetch quite a price..."

Todd smiled inwardly, knowing her greed would overcome her shrewdness.

"If you aren't interested-"

"Who's to say I'm not?" Mrs. Lovett quickly interrupted. "But how am I to trust you?"

"I am trusting you not to testify against me using stolen items as evidence."

Lovett bit her lip, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows. Sensing victory was near, Todd leaned in and let his head rest against her shoulder.

"You wouldn't testify against me, would you? They'd only trick you out of an agreement and hang you just the same."

That gave Lovett pause. What if he was right? But Norwood wouldn't let that happen. Still, it was safer and more profitable to agree. And it _was_ rather nice having his attention like this again.

"Very well," she conceded, fussing with a lock of his hair before smoothing it down and letting her cheek rest against his forehead.

"It'll be worth your while," Todd purred, picking up her hand and kissing her knuckles gently. "Liquify those assets and then have them sent to a foreign bank...America, how do you like America?"

"What does it matter?" she sighed. "I'll never go there."

Todd smiled wickedly and leaned up to whisper in her ear. "Don't be so sure."

She looked at him quizzically. "Now, Mr. Todd...you haven't got anything up your sleeve, have you?"

"Perhaps New York. Can you have your lawyer write a letter?"

"Of course, but-"

"Sh. Later. I don't need you getting overwrought," Todd glanced up at the small barred window in the door to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Better to rest now, we'll discuss it later tonight."


	7. Man Delights Me Not

"_Vicar?"_

_Todd wrinkled his nose. "Too chalky."_

_Lovett propped her chin on his naked chest, and drew invisible circles with her fingertips._

"_Hmmmm, what about the military?"_

"_Army or navy?" Todd sifted his fingers through her gleaming curls. He had to admit, here in the candlelight, she was more likeable, more attractive and more desirable than she had ever been out in the harsh light of day. _

_Lovett bit her lip in thought, and then pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Navy."_

"_Salty. How about..." he paused mid sentence, grabbing her waist. Lovett yelped as he rolled her onto her back, and pinned her to the bed. "Pie maker?"_

"_No, we all taste of dust and flour," she giggled as he dipped his head down to her neck, lacing it with kisses and bites. "I should think barber might suit you better." _

"_Mm," Todd mumbled against her skin. "Hair in one's food is dreadfully unappetizing."_

"_But-"_

"_Sh," he interrupted, and bent to kiss her pouting lips. "No more talk."_

_His fingers began to unlace the remaining ties of the shift that had managed to make it halfway off her body in the last hour. She stared up at the ceiling and smiled to herself. _

"_Anything you say, Mr. Todd."_

--

_Had it been four days? Or five?_

Eleanor Lovett stared at the crack at the bottom of the heavy wooden door that prevented her escape into the world she knew. The stone floor against her cheek was by now a familiar vexation, but it was no more comfortable than it had been the first day she had arrived. She was sick of this place now, and anxious to get out. Everything from the rays of light that trickled through the barred window, to Sweeney Todd's peaceful, confident features sent ripples of irritation through her. He was watching the dust particles float in the thin, wan winter light with his head cocked.

"What're you looking so smug for?" Lovett demanded, scratching the mortar between the stone blocks that made up the floor.

"Oh, nothing," Todd said airily, resuming his counting of the floating dust particles. In truth, he was thinking about what he was going to do after they made a break. Anthony had insisted he and Johanna would be safely installed in Plymouth by the time his plans were to commence.

_Johanna..._

If it weren't for that damned boy...but no, Anthony was a friend. A daftly, dull-witted, and annoying friend, but a friend nonetheless. His _only_ friend.

_--_

"Johanna, he's my friend. He's OUR friend."

"Anthony, I know you care for him, I understand, but a felon in my home-"

"We owe him at least one night's shelter! Why won't you listen?"

Johanna turned onto her side and glared at her husband.

"If you must know, Anthony, it is because I think he is guilty of the crimes he was arrested for!"

Anthony was dumbfounded. He rolled onto his side to face his scowling wife.

"But..but..how can you believe that?" he exclaimed. "How can you possibly?"

"Anthony, Anthony, my darling," she sighed, pressing her face against his. "Don't you remember? When you left the parlour shop, I heard someone, an old woman, calling the beadle. I hid in the trunk."

"You didn't tell me this before," Anthony groused, still befuddled.

"I heard her singing a lullaby, a little lullaby...and then a man's voice, an awful snarl of a voice at that, demanding the reason for her being there. I heard her scream, and then a great clatter and clanking noise, like that of a factory conveyor belt. And then the judge came in, I'm sure of it."

"And then?"

Johanna's golden brows knit together. "And then I heard them speaking. It was muffled, I couldn't tell what they were saying. And then a name, he...the man, he shouted a name, but I only heard the first part. He shouted the name 'Benjamin'. That terrible rattling started again, and quickly stopped."

She paused for a moment and cuddled up to her husband before continuing her narrative.

"When I thought he had gone, I got out of the trunk, but he came back again, and it was Mr. Todd as you had described him to me. He did not recognize me as a woman, not with all that grit on my face, but he became most fearsome, and his eyes were full of rage. He demanded that I explain my presence there, but I was too frightened.

"I all but collapsed into the chair, but the factory whistle had gone again, and it must've put some sense in me, for I made a dash down the stairs. I heard a scream from below, and that's when I found you, Anthony, coming back from Temple Bar."

"Are you sure it was Mr. Todd? Think hard now," Anthony stroked her face with his hand, looking earnestly into her eyes. "And even so, you can't be certain it was he who killed those people. There is no evidence, none, and he says he was framed."

Johanna sighed again. "I don't know, Anthony, I only know that he frightened me dreadfully,"she bit her lip.

"I promise you, my love, he wouldn't harm a single hair on your head. Think of all he did to rescue you from that awful madhouse!" he pointed out.

"Yes, yes, of course, you're right. I'm sorry. I just...I don't know, that night was so awful, everything was mixed up," Johanna said miserably as she pressed her face into his chest.

"I know, my dearest. Go to sleep, now. You're overwrought, and we have a long journey tomorrow."

--

The light filtered in, reminding Toby of the Vermeer he had been privileged enough to spy during a meeting with the literature master. Though it was a very small thing, Master Langley insisted it was genuine. Proudly, he explained that he was holding it for a friend who was planning to sell it to a museum. It depicted a woman, round faced with bright eyes standing at the window sill, while a great white light flooded into the room, softening the darker colours and bringing the brighter ones to the surface.

"Do you like that one, Master Reginald?"

The masters called him that on account of his quick learning and wise tongue. The other boys used it as a jeer. Toby didn't mind. He preferred spending time with the masters anyway. He had never spent long among boys his own age, except during the years when he had lodged at a workhouse. Even then, no one so much as spoke, let alone tried to form social hierarchy. Running away from there had been his greatest triumph, until now. Now his greatest triumph was being able to read, write and do figures.

"Yes sir, very much sir. What is it called?"

"Oh, I don't think it has a name. It's such a little thing, I imagine the old boy did it just for practice. Now then, to business. What did you want to see me for, lad?"

"Well, sir, I finished Burns; I should like to do another poem."

Langley's old wrinkled face cracked into a smile. "Another poem, is it? You're terribly voracious with them: you could teach the class."

"Oh, no, sir," Toby protested, his voice soft as always. "I don't think I want to teach, not boys at any rate. I would very much like to write. For a paper or suchlike."

"Ah, I think your talents are higher than that, but we'll see, eh?" the master got up, his old body creaking. "I think I have just the thing for you. You're a curiosity unto yourself, Tobias. I think you might sympathize."

Toby wanted to fidget with the edge of his navy blue blazer, but resisted. His very first lesson had been Manners and Decorum, and he still had a red mark on his hand from the place where the master's switch had struck him. None of the other teachers had ever punished him. They would correct his grammar, pronunciation or spelling, but never did they raise a hand to strike him. It was common knowledge that none of them liked Master Chieves anyway. Toby had once overhead them commenting that his was a subject with no real merit, and that was why he was so bitter and cruel.

"Sympathize, sir?"

"You might relate," Langley reiterated, lifting a thick leather volume off his shelf. Toby scooted to the edge of his seat, and took the book reverently, reading the name on the side.

"Edgar Allen Poe. Is he good?"

"Of course he's good, boy!" Langley scoffed. "Would I assign you bad authors?"

"To teach me the difference?"

"Cheek! Get on with you," his voice was fierce, but he was smiling.

Toby had thanked him for the book, left the office, and then retreated down the hallway to his room.

Toby was very fond of his room; it was private and comfortable, and had once been a master's quarters. The dormitories had been full when he had arrived, but he didn't mind at all- he had never had his own room before and he didn't like the other boys anyway.

He particularly enjoyed the afternoon light that would dodge around the bare branches of the birch tree and fill his room with a warm dusty glow. His hands stayed over the cover of the book as he beheld this little marvel for long moments. Then he climbed up onto the comfortable old four poster bed, staring at the illuminated red canopy.

He liked the bed, but he would've been happy to sleep on straw. Being away from the dark clouds the hung over London, and away from Mr. Todd, was worth everything.

--

_He had treated her like a whore. _

Sweeney Todd's contemplation of Mrs. Lovett had stretched back to those lustful, villainous moments, free of innocence or care. He had done things with her that he had no name for, that no English gentleman would dare speak of in polite company. And, bloody tart that she has, she enjoyed every minute of it. If there was anything Todd truly admired about Mrs. Lovett, it was her...creativity.

On the other hand, his time with Lucy had been a short series of innocent couplings. Mere conversation on the matter would bring a delightful blush to her cheeks, and she could speak not at all. Todd watched as Lovett reposed in the stark patch of sunlight, remembering how differently the two had valued sex. Lucy's aim, as she had been taught, was to please her husband, but not too often, as it was unladylike. Eleanor Lovett gave back bruise for bruise, her stubborn little hands scratching track marks across the scars acquired during his exile.

He felt a stab of guilt, and cursed himself for thinking such thoughts. Lovett was a vile devious little witch, and to think such things was a sin, a sin against his wife, and God.

_But what are God and Devil to me now? Neither delight me. _

Still, it was...pleasing to think of such things. There was no denying that. His time with Lucy had been soft, pure and sweet, but his time with Lovett had been pleasurable, wanton and viciously sensuous.

_She is the Devil's wife! _

_What does that make me, then, I wonder? _He asked no one in particular.

A booming knock on the door interrupted Todd's reverie. Lieutenant MacKenna's scowling face appeared through the barred window.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Todd. A _journalist._" The word was laced with contempt. Todd cocked his head, and took his time getting to his feet.

"What use have I for a journalist, Lieutenant?"

"Haven't a clue, but Sir James let him in."

"Bribed, no doubt," Todd yawned, stalking over to the door. "Where is he, then?"

"In the chapel. I'll take you, and lock you in."

"Fair enough."

Despite the largeness of the room, Todd still felt a wave of claustrophobia as he entered the chapel. He walked among the pews, which were situated behind a set of wrought iron bars. Standing on the other side was a lanky man with a mop of shock yellow hair. Something about his earnest features and youthful vitality sent a shiver of annoyance through Todd.

"Mr. Todd? Oh, gosh, it's an honour to meet you. I mean, er, I'm very glad you could speak with me, I know must be very busy-"

The boy's flat American twang hit his ears and reverberated with total irritation, which had become evident on Todd's face. Possibly the youth noticed, because he sat down on the warden bench immediately, and set to dry washing his hands.

"Gosh, I'm sorry, sir. Can we start again?"

Todd merely arched a brow, and said nothing.

"Alright then. Well, my name is Morgan, Morgan Quinn."

"Ah." Todd turned his back and leant against the bars.

"Well, I, um...I was here in London doing a bit for the Gazette, see, and I was wondering if perhaps...you might..."

Todd turned his head to the side, watching the boy out of the corner of his eye. "If I might _what_, Mr. Quinn?"

"If you might give me an interview."

Todd looked away again, his interest waning. "I rather think that might hurt my chances in court, Mr. Quinn."

"Oh, no!" Quinn stood up again. "We wouldn't publish until after your trial."

Todd gave a sinister little chuckle, and slowly stood. Quinn immediately sat down again as the other man overshadowed him, his feral blue eyes unfathomable beneath ironically quirked brows. Quinn felt his mouth go dry, and he involuntarily leaned back as Todd wrapped his hands around the bars and brought himself right up against them, lifting himself partially off the ground as he stretched catlike, labour hardened muscles in his arm bulging and straining against his shirt.

"What if they find me guilty, Mr. Quinn?" he drawled. "What if...they decide that this grand little bloodletting we've had...is in fact all my doing?"

"Well...I..." Quinn had began to sweat. He loosened his collar.

"Is that what you want, Mr. Quinn? To make your readers shiver at the idea of reading impressions of a murderer?

"I didn't mean to-"

"Remember this, Mr. Quinn," Todd snapped, suddenly turning from lackadaisical to intent as he stared unblinkingly through the bars. "Evil is banal. It's common, it's filthy, and it takes true craft to make it exquisite. Whether or not I killed Judge Turpin or Beadle Bamford is irrelevant. Investigate their origins and you will discover the extent of their corruption. They were evil. I am merely a force."

"Corruption, did you say?" Quinn was fumbling for his pencil and notebook.

"A scandal to shake the very roots of Parliament, I should think."

"Is that all?"

Todd ignored the question, turned his back, and at length made his way through the pews back to the chapel door. Before raising a hand to knock, he turned to face the young journalist.

"If I think of anything else, I shall tell you."


	8. Sabine Woman

"Mr. Norwood, you have been ever so kind to me. You know, sometimes you remind me of my old Albert. He used to take care of me, and he was always so attentive. Your wife is a lucky woman."

Hans Norwood missed the slyness in Mrs. Lovett's eyes. Hans Norwood had a special talent for overlooking things, one thing that made him such an effective solicitor. He believed (or at least had developed a very special habit of ignorance) in the infallible innocence of his clients. To a jury, this irrefutable belief was infectious.

In truth, Norwood's powers of perception were not at all refined. Mrs. Lovett had instinctually identified this particular weakness, and had immediately set to exploiting it.

"Actually," Norwood said, blushing. "I never really found time to marry-"

"Oh, you poor dear!" Lovett exclaimed, placing a sly hand on his knee. "Well, I know if _I_ were Mrs. Norwood, I should be very pleased to have a husband such as you."

Norwood's blush deepened. The retiring room seemed to grow smaller. He felt a small surge of attraction.

"The tea will be bringing the constable, er...I mean...the moment will be bringing any tea..." he stuttered, and then exhaled, trying to regain his composure. "Mrs. Lovett, you really are too kind."

Mrs. Lovett smiled serenely at the light filled window.

"Oh, it's just my warm heart, dear..."

The knock at the lounge door interrupted them, and Norwood immediately jumped up off the sofa. Keys clanking on his belt, the constable made his way into the room carrying a tea tray. Norwood shakily polished his glasses on his pinstripe coat while Lovett casually smoothed her lavender skirts, idling until the officer had departed.

"Now, Mr. Norwood," she purred. "Why don't you come sit down next to me and we'll have tea, and talk of what's to be done, hmm?"

Norwood fidgeted with his spectacles for a few lengthy seconds before stuffing them decidedly into his pocket and making his way back over to the sofa.

"Did you have something in mind, Mrs. Lovett?"

"Eleanor, please."

"Eleanor," Norwood repeated the name, a blush coming to his cheeks.

"Well, now, Mr. Norwood. My husband was something of a collector. He liked to..." she traced her finger around his knee. "Acquire things."

"Did he," Norwood said distractedly.

"Magpie like. He'd buy things from pawn shops and ferret them away in a hiding place. I want you to do me a small..." she paused, and leaned against him, toying with the hair at his temple. "Favour."

"Anything," he breathed, now totally entranced.

"Perfect. Now, all I want you to do is..."

"Well?" Todd's voice was expectant. He looked especially gaunt, sitting on the balls of his feet in the moonlit corner.

"Two hundred and twenty seven pounds...sterling."

Slowly, Todd rose from the floor."You're joking."

"Not," Mrs. Lovett clucked, giggling he seized her waist as if to embrace her. Their eyes met, and in instant they broke apart, one full of angry guilt and the other quashing half dead hopes. Todd returned to his corner, sliding back to the floor.

"How did you convince him?"

"Well, you know me," Mrs. Lovett sighed airily as she flopped onto the ground, skirts spread all around her. "It wasn't hard, really. Some people just need to be oiled the right way, if you follow me."

"Mm," Todd agreed, wishing he could gain her confidence as easily as she had gained the lawyer's.

Her trust was so vitally important to his plan. He would catch himself (if only for a short time) wanting to live in the fantasy he was slowly weaving for her.

"Mr. Todd..." Lovett began, scratching the floor with a fingernail.

"Mm?"

"What is it...you've got planned exactly?"

Todd considered for a moment, weighing his options. The scheme that had been brewing in his mind was incomplete, and the pieces had yet to fall into place. No doubt Mrs. Lovett was still of two minds herself. She was now a great deal wealthier with all of that money under her name, which was something to consider. But before he could conclude his deliberations, there came a fierce knock on the door, and raised voices could be heard beyond it. Todd scrambled up to the door to listen, motioning to Mrs. Lovett to remain silent. She looked quizzically at him.

"Damnit, I'm his counsel and I demand an audience, NOW!"

"Mr. Oberlin, you really must speak with the warden before-"

"Now, listen here, MacKenna, you're denying my access to my client-"

Todd decided to intervene.

"Lieutenant..." he drawled. The hulking Scot glanced through the bars. Oberlin wasn't anywhere in sight: he was too short to peer through the bars.

"Mr. Todd, I believe your lawyer would like to speak with you."

Todd buffed his nails on his stale shirt. "That occurrence would require my consent, isn't that true, Lieutenant?" he yawned laconically.

"Aye, Mr. Todd."

"Supposing I want to hear what he has to say?"

"I can authorize that," MacKenna said matter-of-factly. Oberlin threw him a dirty look.

"Hrm. Very well."

Mrs. Lovett watched pensively as they shackled Todd's wrists. She was still completely dashed as far as his so-called escape plan went. If she went through with her testimony, she would be free to do as she pleased without threat upon her life. Never again would she feel his hands around her neck.

But if she let him hang, she would have to watch him die, and the weak affection that had sprung up between them would die with him. Hadn't he said America? Hadn't he promised?

And despite his standoffish attitude, she could sense the broiling emotions in him, the restrained lust. Just as she had sensed it the first time while carving meat off Pirelli's bones. It was a flash in his eyes, and she had known. She made just the right gestures at just the right times, whispering her own little spell, unleashing the demon that was once named Benjamin Barker. She had taken advantage of him, was taking advantage of him, even as he had torn away her clothes.

She had seen that flash again in his eyes. With it came the memories, the physical sensations. She had laced her kisses with her own special brand of poison, causing him to hiss lies so convincing even he believed them.

_Love you, adore you, worship you, perfect beauty, my pet, my love, my fire, oh God..._

A shiver ran through her. But better sense still cautioned against a full reconciliation. If she was wise, she would test him first. And then she would decide whether or not to betray Sweeney Todd.

--

"You spoke to the PRESS?"

Todd yawned. "Perhaps."

"What do you mean, _perhaps_!" Michael Oberlin screeched, his eyes alight with manic fire. "How dare you speak to the press!"

Todd fixed an amazed glare on his lawyer's brick red face. "Do you presume to give me orders, Mr. Oberlin?"

His voice was silken, and deadly quiet. Oberlin was shaking with rage. His voice quavered as his tone dropped down, but he couldn't match the direness of the unspoken threat. "Mr. Todd, I am going to make damned sure that your trial begins this week, and then I am going to grind you into the ground like the lower class peon that you are. MACKENNA!"

The guard came when he was called. He nodded to Todd, and began to administer the shackles to his wrists.

"You know, Mr. Oberlin," Todd said as MacKenna helped him out of the chair. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't fond of me."

"GO TO HELL!"

"Not before you do." Vicious laughter followed this sentiment. But the bravado died halfway down the hall, and Todd felt a grave apprehension rising from the pit of his soul. If Oberlin could deliver his threat, it meant serious trouble for his escape plan.

--

_Conversations at Newgate_

_A Brief Exposé by Morgan Quinn_

_Formerly Mr. Benjamin Barker, now operating under the pseudonym Sweeney Todd (an etymological play on 'well-going fox') , at once captured my interest. Even behind bars and lacking a few square meals in him, he was an intimidating presence, full of what one might even call charisma. As expected, he treated me with scorn and callous dismissal, but soon revealed that a deeper plot lay beneath his imprisonment. He assured me that underneath his story lay, in his own words, "a scandal to shake the very roots of Parliament."_

_More to come._

_- Quinn, Assisting Reporter to the Gazette_

It was lucky for Anthony, and perhaps luckier for Sweeney Todd that the former almost never bothered to read the newspapers. And while the latter worked to weave together the threads of his escape plan, Anthony was stretched thin back in the dingy old flat in Temple Bar, assembling the means for lawbreaking.

Johanna was not nearly as sympathetic, but she no longer raised protests. Instead, she busied herself with the running of their new home. A lovely, large Plymouth estate on the bluff bought and paid for in part by the inheritance she had received as Judge Turpin's ward. As she strode along the white rose hedges that lined the dusty, bumpy drive, she smiled serenely to herself, indulging in the brief wicked delight of the advantages the death of that vile old man had brought her. If Sweeney Todd had indeed murdered the Judge, he had unwittingly freed her from a cruel fate. With Anthony away at London, her mind would wander to morbid fancies. The cold green lawn and the towering apple tree beneath which she reposed wrapped in furs would dissolve before her waking eyes, and she could see only the bars, chains and straight-waistcoats of Fogg's Asylum. A living hell if ever there was one, her back still bore the marks of the abuse she had suffered there. She remembered the awful feeling of wondering if her sanity really was slipping away; if the world inside that mouldering, rotting cage was really the only one she had ever known.

In its own way, killing Jonas Fogg was its own delight. Savage, but satisfying. Try as she might to feel some kind of repentance or guilt, Johanna couldn't bring herself to regret her choice of action. Anthony was right about one thing: Todd had provided the means. Means which should have been reposing at the bottom of the Thames, slowly turning to rust. But she still had the pistol.

Anthony might be too soft, too good natured to do what must be done, but Johanna would ensure their safety if it came to it.

---

Every day at noon, a man dressed in a vest and long coat walked past the northeast corner of Newgate Prison. He would make one brief glance at the highest cell window and continue walking, hands stuffed in his pocket and collar turned up against the chilling wind. The guards paid little heed.

---

"Where do you think you're going, Master Tobias? Where are you going, whelp?"

Tobias ignored the jeers: it was habit by now. But he knew Thomas Morton; he knew that the burly curly haired red head wouldn't be satisfied with Toby's silence for very much longer. As he tried to beat a hasty retreat from the wintery grounds, Morton's foot shot out and sent him sprawling across grass.

Heaving a sigh, Toby pushed himself up off the icy lawn, acting as if he had not noticed. Morton snatched his collar and threw him bodily to the ground.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Rag!"

He aimed a kick at Toby's midriff. But Toby had not survived a world of murdering sneakthieves, sinful mountebanks and vengeful cutthroats for nothing. He caught Morton's foot with both hands and gave a great tug. Morton tumbled down onto the grass. Toby stood up with some difficulty, and brushed off his grass stained shorts. The larger boy was about to get up, when Toby pressed a foot down on Morton's chest. Toby stared at him, feeling an uncharacteristic gush of contempt.

"I've seen blood, Morton. I've seen murder and devilry and sin," he intoned softly, his face very pale. "You don't frighten me."

Morton couldn't think of a retort. He only stared. The ring of boys that had been closing in had now withdrawn, now intrigued and curious instead of malicious and vengeful. After a moment's contemplation, Toby lifted his foot off Morton's chest and stepped back, allowing him to rise.

"You ain't really seen murder," he scoffed, but there was an uncertain quaver in his voice. Toby noted how his bravado had turned to apprehensive caution.

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," Toby said as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Either way, I'm still not afraid of _you_. What are you going to do, bloody my nose?"

When Morton couldn't dredge up a smart reply, Toby pushed past him and the group of boys parted to allow him through, muttering amongst themselves with apprehension and curiosity.

---

Lovett was fidgeting with a rent on her skirt when Todd was returned to the cell. She immediately looked up, eyes wide with fearful anticipation. Anxiety and desperation hung over him like a cloud.

"I heard yelling," Lovett said, standing up.

" It doesn't concern you," Todd muttered, walking over to the barred window that looked out over the cold road.

"Mr. Todd," Lovett began, following him to the window. "If I'm to trust you-"

"You can trust me," Todd interrupted, turning to face her, brows knit.

Lovett crossed her arms over her chest. "Prove it."

Todd grabbed her by the shoulders and backed her against the wall, his eyes burning. "What do you WANT from me, woman? What assurance can I possibly give that will make you stop questioning me all the damned time?"

A small whimper of surprise welled up from her throat. She stared into his feral blue eyes, knowing that she was about to walk across some very hot coals. Her eyes flickered to the gold wedding band on his right hand. He followed her gaze, and his lips became a tight thin line.

"If you tell me you'll sell that," she said softly. "I'll trust you."

Disgusted, Todd released her shoulders and she slumped against the wall.

"No."

"You've got more feeling in you for a dead woman than you have for anything living, not even your own self-"

"SHUT UP!"

Lovett let out a small scream of pain as the flat of Todd's hand caught her cheek and sent her reeling.

Seething, she picked herself up off the floor, the red hand print on her cheek paling against her livid eyes.

"Go to the gallows, then! All your promises, your lies- lay another hand on me, and I'll scream to shake the heavens!"she shrieked, shrinking against the wall as he advanced, nearly spitting with rage.

"I'll kill you now!" he snarled, eyes bright with hellfire.

"Go ahead," she hissed vehemently, pushing herself off the wall to face him. "Kill me, then, if it'll make you feel powerful. It's the last power you'll ever have, it's the only thing you've got!"

A frisson ran through him. Somewhere in his rage-fogged mind, he understood the consequences that would follow if he killed her now. He knew there would be no chance for another life somewhere. He knew he would never see Johanna again. His conscious thought was slipping away, and in its place, there was only physical feeling. Lovett was so close, her lips wet and parted as she drew in angry breaths. Her breast heaving. The maddening scent of rose water that was her natural fragrance filled his nostrils and sent shudders through him.

_Hate her._

And then, like a flash of light, the answer came to him.

"You're wrong," he said roughly, grasping the front of her bodice and violently renting it apart, shift and all. A small gasping scream came from her, and she fought him as he gripped her chin, crushing his mouth against hers with a vicious wantonness. He drank down the small screams of rage and surprise that emitted from her, until finally she sagged into his arms, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. He pulled away and gazed at her for an instant, any hint of humanity gone from his eyes, replaced only with a desire that was as destructive as it was demanding.

Lovett wrapped her arms around his neck, holding fast to him as he went at her throat, covering it with kisses that left bruises; teeth biting and nipping at her skin. Pressing her back to the wall, his hands busied themselves with tearing into her skirts, hiking them up as he lifted her bodily against him. Using one hand, he tugged his trousers down, and let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan as she wrapped her legs around him, enveloping him. He kissed her tears as he began to thrust into her, his senses on fire, shivers rocketing along his spine with each little muffled gasp and moan she uttered.

"Do you trust me, Eleanor?" he growled, voice thick with lust.

"Never," the reply was a whimper.

"Will you betray me?"

"Never," the word became a soft cry. "Benjamin."

As she tore away his shirt, Todd felt himself losing control, aided by the delicious pain she was inflicting on his chest with her fingernails. Every thought of his wife, his life, and all things in it had been driven out of his head. There was nothing more pristine than this, nothing more pure, more perfect. He could taste his own death on her lips for a brief moment, and there was no sweeter ambrosia.

Lovett had managed to cling ferociously to this point, but her muscles relaxed with the mounting, snapping and releasing tension. She felt herself go weak, her strength and energy consumed in the fire that was him. Her soul was swimming in her own intoxication, fuelled by him, his hurtful kisses, and his ungentle hands. Her body bowed, his knees weakened, and they both slid to the floor. Lovett was sprawled across his bloodied chest. Todd stared at the ceiling, his nerves tingling with each breath, reminded by the weight of her body against him. Craving physical sensation, he stroked her red hair, running his hands through it, tightening his fingers in it before releasing it, letting it flow across his palms. She let out a purring hum of pleasure.

_My soul is truly dead_, he thought, blankly resigned. _Or she is the Devil, and it belongs to her. _

He had never felt more alive.


	9. Lies, Laments, and Lawyers

No matter how cold the day, Tobias always went without a muffler. Mufflers, all shapes and sizes, reminded him of things he did not wish to remember. While he had excelled far beyond his humble beginnings, old fears still haunted him in the darkness of night. During the day, he could discipline his mind into silence, suppressing the painful memories with significant effort. But the cold always reminded him of _her. _

Toby hated thinking of Mrs. Lovett.

Whenever he did, a physical ache of regret would wrench in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure from whence it stemmed: perhaps it was the regret that he had trusted Mrs. Lovett. Regret that he had cared, loved, and feared for her. Or maybe it was guilt. The guilt of wishing he was with her still. No one had ever taken care of him before.

He took a turn around the deserted courtyard, his shoulders squared against the icy wind. He felt himself growing older in those few moments. He could insulate himself against guilt and regret, but not the cold logic of the situation. As desperately as he had wanted to believe in her innocence, he could not forget the fact that she had sanctioned his death. Mrs. Lovett's involvement in the murders were confirmed when Toby discovered the contents of the pies. Those creaking floorboards above his head as those heavy boots trod across them told all. She was going to give him to Mr. Todd.

He hated her all the more because even now she affected him. Even now, a deep, dark place in him still wanted to impress her, to help her, to cry on her shoulder. He hated her because a tiny part of him still loved her.

--

Miles away, confined in Newgate Prison, Sweeney Todd was suffering from a similar (if much more carnal) dilemma.

It hurt to move. It felt good.

What he had received in scratches he had given back in bruises. Lovett lay across his lacerated chest, wincing with each breath. Holding fast to her hair, he tongued one of the lavender marks on her throat, delighting in her shudder.

For an instant he had forgotten his hatred. It still resided in his mind, but for now it was dormant, not dictating his actions.

"How are you going to explain the dress?" he asked sleepily, tugging on the partially shredded black taffeta.

"I haven't the foggiest notion. And what about you?" she prodded him in the chest, causing him to let out a hiss of pain.

"I don't know either. I do know that I need to get rid of my sodding solicitor," Todd groused. "And I can't exactly kill him."

"Oh, is he a bully?"

Todd stroked her hair, and started to braid it absent mindedly.

"A bully yes, but more importantly, he belongs to Blunt. And he's determined to see me hang."

"Good lord, why?"

"That daft American reporter I spoke to. Oberlin all but ordered me not to speak to the press and it puts rather a dent in my...plan..." he trailed off, realization creeping across his features.

"What is it?" Lovett asked, perking up. Todd immediately shifted her off his body, ignoring her squeak of protest, and leapt up to the cell door.

"Lieutenant MacKenna?" he called.

"Aye?" came the groggy reply. Clearly the lieutenant had been napping. Something to remember.

"Lieutenant, do you remember that reporter, the American? Quinn whatever?"

"I do. Why?"

"Can you send for him?"

"I would need a reason, Mr. Todd," MacKenna pointed out. But Todd had made a point to be good natured to MacKenna, having the foresight that he might need the man's cooperation at some point.

"Do you like Michael Oberlin, Lieutenant?"

"What has that to do with anything?"

Todd smiled through the bars.

"Live by the press, die by the press."

"Ahhh."

--

Morgan Quinn was not, strictly speaking, an employee of the Gazette. Rather, he was something of a retainer, contributing articles for little or no pay. In the world of journalism, he was considered a horror chaser, less reputable than even a society writer. Less than a hack; ignored entirely in professional circles. The only reason the paper ran his material was because it attracted a certain kind of reader. Morbid curiosity sold papers. But it was widely thought that the scandal he claimed he was about to uncover was fantasy.

Quinn, however, believed in his work: he was passionate to the point of annoyance. So when the demand for an audience from Sweeney Todd came, Morgan Quinn immediately caught the next train to Newgate.

The interrogation rooms were like stone boxes, each with a battered wooden table, and usually some decrepit stools or chairs. Unlike the chapel, bars did not separate the interrogator and the prisoner.

Quinn's earlier enthusiasm was quickly dissolved by the menacing presence of the barber of Fleet Street. Even seated, Todd had the air of a serpent about to strike. Quinn therefore opted to remain standing. He cleared his throat delicately.

"I understand, Mr. Todd, you have some information for me?"

"Sit down." Todd ordered. Quinn quickly obeyed in the manner of a puppy, dropping down onto a stool. Todd fixed a look of distaste upon the young journalist, and then worked to suppress his contempt.

"My lawyer Michael Oberlin, is a paid agent of the police. Corrupt, through and through."

"Michael Oberlin? _The _Michael Oberlin of Oberlin and Sons?" Quinn asked, shaking excitably.

"How should I know?" Todd snapped. Quinn skidded back a few feet in his chair, and leaped up.

"I apologize, Mr. Todd. I shall investigate this immediately!"

"Do. And mind you hurry. The jury has been seated, and I suspect Oberlin has paid them off."

"I shall! Oh, this will be a triumph of among editorials-"

"Mr. Quinn."

Immediately Quinn fell silent and stared with rapt attention at Todd, who cocked his head to the side.

"Shut up."

"Yes, sir."

--

Oberlin and Sons was a firm of dubious repute. To start with, there were no sons involved: the name had been fabricated to make the firm appear familial and felicitous. It did a high profit with corrupt politicos, skirt chasing royals and police institutions. Lacking any kind of inheritance or title, Oberlin had made his way on dishonesty, cleverly crafted falsehoods, suspect favours and dirty money. Everything from his degree to his bar exam grade had been manufactured. He had begun as an informer for Blunt, acting as false witness in those hard-to-prove cases, and had ascended from there.

His wife was a wasted shrew of a woman who lavished her affections on a lord in Streatham, often demanding money for cheap furs, tacky jewellery and other gaudy trinkets. She would leave home for weeks at a time, and Oberlin had begun telling people she had died of dysentery.

Michael Oberlin's entire life was a bought-and-paid-for lie.

In the space of two days, these were among the many things Morgan Quinn discovered. After two days, he was promoted to a full fellow of the Gazette and given an partnership in the criminal scandals department.

The dismayed scream of rage and ruin that emitted from Oberlin as he opened his morning paper could be heard from as far as across the street.

--

It was the twenty fifth time Anthony had walked past Newgate Prison in his black coat. He was sick with cold, but through watery eyes, he spied at the topmost window the signal he had been waiting for. A strip of dirty white cloth had been tied around one of the bars. Immediately he stopped in his tracks, turned on his heel and strode back in the direction from which he had come.

--

"Would you consider being my...friend? Friend? No, no, that's no good. Not friend. Wife? No, that's ridiculous."

Norwood was making little progress with the reflection in the window. A bundle of roses sat at his feet, petals partially shredded from compulsive fidgeting. The door opened, and Norwood immediately retrieved the mangled bouquet, ignorant of his backwards lapel and the pocket watch hanging from his trousers.

Mrs. Lovett floated in, dressed today in a second hand dark green lace.

"Oh, Mrs. Lovett!" Norwood's face fell as he spotted the bite marks on her throat. He dropped the roses immediately and rushed towards her. "Your neck"

"Oh, what's that dear?" Lovett chirruped as she clapped a hand over her neck.

"You're hurt!" Norwood seized her hands.

"Oh, it's nothing dear, I just fell! You know me, I'm such a goose," Lovett babbled, twisting her neck this way and that to try and prevent him from examining them more closely.

"He did it, didn't he? Oh, if he touched you- let me see!"

He would not be dissuaded, so Lovett did the only thing she could. She kissed him. His eyes bulged with shock.

It wasn't an open mouthed kiss, or even a long one, but when it finished, Norwood immediately fell on his knees.

"Oh, Eleanor, I thought you...I thought you didn't share my feelings!"

"Oh, well, er..." Mrs. Lovett felt a blush rising to her cheeks. She tripped slightly over her skirts (he had knelt on them) and had trouble righting herself, as he was gripping her hands rather tightly.

"But I can see you clearly do, so I don't feel at all silly about asking this of you," he continued earnestly, blinking away tears of joy through his owlish spectacles.

"Er, asking me what, dearie?"

By now, Norwood's already pasty face was shock white, his eyes wide with hysteria.

"You will? Oh, Eleanor, I'm happier than I can say."

Lovett's expression of total bewilderment escaped him rather easily as (with one nasally inhalation) he keeled over and fainted dead away on the floor.


	10. Hold Thrill Kiss Kill

Stealing the police seal had been immensely difficult. After breaking into an office, Anthony had been forced to hide under the desk when an officer had come in to retrieve his baton. But he had managed it, doing exactly what Mr. Todd had instructed. He had not opened the letter Todd had bade him deliver, nor had he made any inquiries as to its contents, but sealed it with it with blue wax.

When the work was done, the letter was unceremoniously stuffed into the prison post warden's box. Noting the special seal, the post warden requested the classified information required to address it. It was delivered on time to the overnight mail express train.

--

Mrs. Lovett's teeth held fast to her lower lip as she was escorted back to the prison cell. The moment the door slammed shut, she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Todd was seated on the floor, trying to catch a fly with one hand.

"He..Norwood, my solicitor...out the window, you'll see..."

Todd leaned up and glanced out the window, observing a bespectacled thin man being carried across the grounds by two prison guards. He let out a small 'hrmph' of derision, then noticed the fly on the wall, smashed it against the stone and wiped his hand off on his trousers.

"He asked me to MARRY him," Lovett giggled, kneeling down beside him and pressing her face into his shoulder as she tried to quell her laughter.

Todd dead-panned, and looked at her. "You're joking."

"No, no, he did, and then he fainted. They're taking him to the doctor up the road."

"And?" Todd pressed, clearly amused.

"And what?" Lovett asked breathlessly, wiping away tears of mirth.

"What did you say?"

"Oh," she slumped beside him and drew her fingernails lightly against his collarbone. "I didn't say anything, really. He got himself so worked up, he flummoxed himself into thinking I said yes."

"What a queer fellow. I suppose it's all very well, you having your claws in him," Todd said jovially, yanking her against him, grasping her sleeve.

"Mmm?"she mumbled, kissing his neck.

"After all, he's provided us with funds," he tore at her sleeve.

"What are you-"

"Hush. I'll buy you a better dress."

He dislodged himself from her and went to tie the strip of fabric around one of the bars in the window.

"Are we leaving tonight?" Lovett asked, examining her torn sleeve.

"You'll see."

--

"Master Reginald, you have post."

Whispers floated through the hall.

"I thought he was an orphan."

"Who would write to _him_?"

"Maybe he's been expelled."

Toby accepted the letter gingerly. Normally he took a solitary luncheon outside or with one of the masters, but the weather was too brutal to be caught out of doors.

Seeing the police seal on the front, Toby tensed slightly. Were they going to revoke his scholarship?

Carefully, he broke the seal, pulled the letter open and began to read the crisp, tight handwriting.

_Tobias,_

_No doubt you have been well rewarded in exchange for offering your testimony against me. It is rather a pity that it has to be in vain. In all honesty, I did not mind you, and as I'm sure you know, I am not particularly fond of people as a rule. In any case, I hope this reaches you in good health, and I look forward to seeing you again in the very near feature. _

_Yours,_

_Benjamin Barker_

_aka_

_Sweeney Todd_

_PS. As you may have guessed, I am no longer at Newgate. I found that incarceration did not agree with me, so I was regretfully forced to leave. I am in the area, however, and I do plan to drop in. I'm certain you're _dying_ to see me. _

_S.T._

The initials had been written in blood. With shaking hands, Toby set down the letter. The earthshattering feeling of paralysis he had felt while observing Todd prowling the basement with his bloody razor - searching for him- had returned. He gave a great jerking shudder and dropped down to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. He wrapped his arms around his knees and began to rock back and forth, ignorant of the jeering, curious boys around him.

Someone must have had the sense to go for a master, because several of the staff had arrived.

"What is it, lad, what's wrong?" Master Langley asked urgently, kneeling down to take Toby's clammy hands.

One of the others spotted the letter on the floor. Upon its review, the dean was sent for, and the police contacted immediately.

--

Todd worked quickly, but in silence while Lovett watched with bated breath. With the aid of a piece of string, a bow and a thick rope, Anthony had managed to hoist up the basket full of supplies in a few short moments. Once Todd gave him the signal, he fled back to his flat to make further arrangements.

The door swung open on silent hinges, having been well oiled before hand. Todd spied MacKenna asleep in his chair and paused for a moment of debate. Seconds later, the Lieutenant's corpse lay in the middle of the cell in a pool of blood, the inner workings of his neck and throat exposed to the cold air.

Lovett observed Todd quietly, a small frisson of pleasure running through her: pleasure at seeing something done so well. Todd carefully oiled the hinges of the neighbouring door. Silently, he slipped the pick into the lock, working it until with a minuscule click, the tumblers fell into place. Gently he pulled the door open and quietly bade Lovett bring the basket of supplies. Without a sound, they slipped into the cell, and without a sound, shut the door. As long as they stayed in the corners nearest the door, they were invisible.

"What do you mean, ESCAPED?" Sir Blunt screeched.

"Well, sir, we've had a telegram from the Norwich area police, and-"

"Get to the POINT."

"They say they've had a letter from Todd, saying he'd escaped-"

"Has anyone bothered to CHECK THE CELL?"

At that moment, another officer burst into the room.

"Sir Inspector-"

"WHAT?"

"It's MacKenna, sir, he's..." the officer gulped. "He's dead. His throat's cut, he's in Barker's cell."

"And Barker is..." it was more of a statement than a question: Blunt knew the answer.

"Gone."

--

The prison was empty of every guard, constable and warden, save one token guard. Half the police forces of London were fanning out across the southern countryside in search of the escaped prisoner.

It had worked beautifully. Mrs. Lovett balanced on the low guiding rail that normally directed the steps of prisoners on the main concourse, giggling like a school girl. Todd laughed with her as she lost her balance, catching her around the waist. Drunk with success, they collapsed in the middle of the floor. Todd's hand crept up Lovett's skirt as he gazed down at her, torn between fondness and lust. It baffled him.

There was nothing that could prevent him from keeping his promise, that was certain. But with just as much certainty, he felt something deep within him stir reluctantly away from the idea of putting an end to her. The desire to possess. If he killed her, he would no longer have her, and for some inexplicable reason, that troubled him.

"I could have you, you know. Right now," he informed her, scratching his fingers against her thigh. Lovett purred, and grabbed his collar.

"Mm. Better not, though. There's a guard out there."

Todd looked up from her like a lion guarding its prize.

"Is there really? Well, I suppose they had to leave one. Would you like me to get rid of him for you?"

Slowly, Lovett nodded. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, a lover's kiss. Then he got up from the floor and lifted her with him. She clung to his arm and watched as he unsheathed the deadly boning knife.

The guard in question was a boy barely over the age of twenty. Gently, Todd removed Lovett from his arm and crept up very slowly behind the guard. Lovett drifted around, watching with a morbid, catlike curiosity. Todd grasped the boy's hair, yanking his head back. Before he could yell for help, Todd brought the knife up to his neck and drew it across his throat like a violinist drawing a bow across the strings. The hapless guard's eyes bulged and he clawed at his throat, his mouth working like a fish's out of water as blood gushed from his severed jugular and carotid arteries. He sank to his knees, and possessed by some kind of sickly fascination, Lovett knelt down with him, parted and eyes focused as her ears perceived the rushing sound of air escaping through the gaping grinning wound that split his throat. His lungs slowly deflated, his body seizing, rigor mortis racing across his form almost instantaneously.

Todd watched her with an arched eyebrow. He had thought the sophistication, the beauty of extinguishing a life to be beyond her. But clearly it wasn't, he observed as she began to blink as if coming out of a trance. As something of an afterthought, she seized the revolver from the dead officer's belt and tucked it into her skirts. She then got up and returned to Todd's arm, tucking her head against her neck.

Full of idle fancy, they strolled out like tots on a bank holiday.

--

The bodies of Lord Irving and his wife would not be found for weeks, despite the light of day, as they had been cleverly deposited in the river. Todd adjusted his top hat while Lovett smoothed on of the lapels of his black silk waistcoat. She herself was humming with pleasure, having discarded the dirty green lace for a rich red velvet. Some quick work with a bone comb, and Todd had fixed her hair into a shape sufficiently artful enough to pass for an upperclass hairstyle. They were both in need of a wash, but it could wait.

It was half past noon, and the depot was primarily empty. The coach was due to arrive any minute, so they lingered in the shadows, sharing kisses and whispers.

Hans Norwood hated when people kissed in public. A high class pair like this one, too, such nerve. He glanced at them as they stepped out to meet their coach, and felt his heart contract. There, on the arm of a tall, broad man with a pale face and dark circled eyes, was Mrs. Lovett. He was about to call her name when the man glanced in his direction. Never before had Norwood seen such a gaze: pale blue eyes like a wolf's, surrounded by darkened flesh. A quirk of thick lips, and flaring of nostrils spoke of a natural predator, perfectly designed for the kill.

_Sweeney Todd_

With Eleanor. _His_ Eleanor.

They got in the cab. Immediately, Norwood dashed back in the direction of Newgate.

The mangled corpse of the young guard greeted him. He fought down a wave of nausea and staggered into the arsenal. The only thing remaining was a long Winchester rifle. Shaking with an angry excitement, Norwood and made his way to the stables.

--

"Mr. Todd, who are we going to use as witnesses?"

Todd blinked. "What?"

Lovett shrugged, snuggling against him. "At the wedding. Well, the marriage, anyway. Because obviously we can't have a proper wedding, but maybe something small. And I suppose we'd need false names. But then, you said America, perhaps in America...and you'll get another ring, won't you?"

Todd stiffened. The coach had pulled to a stop. He checked his recently acquired pocket watch. They were early.

"Come on," he grunted, pushing open the door.

He paid off the cabbie and glanced around. The rendezvous point was foggy and deserted, surrounded by dour woods on both sides.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Todd," Lovett snipped, wrapping her arms around herself as a chilly wind rushed through the trees.

"What question?"

"I _said_, we'll get our own rings, right. You'll sell that old one."

"I didn't say that," Todd said distractedly as an image rose, unbidden, of his wedding day. The happy, teary smile of his wife as he slipped the ring on to his finger. Lucy. All ashes now.

Perhaps it was time to do what he had promised himself he would. Surely it was the only way he could cleanse the stigma of what Lucy had become; what he had done to her. No, it was Lovett's fault. Lovett could've helped Lucy. Lovett could have nursed her back to health.

_Hadn't she tried? Hadn't she tried to stop her? _

Todd brushed that thought away, turning from Lovett and staring out at the skeletal birch trees.

"Damnit, Benjamin, you listen here," Lovett cried, hurt creeping into her angry voice. "You loved Lucy, yes, I know, and I was jealous, I was always jealous. But I won't share you with a dead woman with nothing but air in her head-"

Todd let out a great roar of rage and whirled on her, the fileting knife clutched in his hand. He took a few slow steps towards her. Upon seeing the knife, Lovett felt herself cringing inside. It wasn't fear that made her heart fail, but pain of a different kind.

_He was going to betray her._

She let out a great gasping sob of anguish, slipping down onto the frozen leaves as Todd advanced on her, his face twisted, his soul torn between vengeance and an affection that threatened to crack his armour. The sound of hoof beats could be heard down the road. He would have to hurry.

Lovett watched him helplessly, tears flowing down her cheeks. She let out a little whimper as he raised the blade. As he prepared to strike, a shadow loomed across him from behind. The improbability of it almost made her laugh. It was Norwood, flushed and crazed. Raising a rifle.

"Benjamin!" she cried a warning. He snarled angrily and reached for her. There was a small metallic click. He glanced down too late and saw the pistol clutched in her hand. Before he could make a move, Lovett, her eyes wide and desperate, pulled the trigger.

There was a flash and a bang. Todd jerked back, one hand flying to his chest. There was no bullet hole. No pain. He was alive.

She had missed. Before she could speak, he batted the gun away and seized her by the throat, ignoring the choked, protesting cries, his face cracking into a savage, victorious grin as he brought the knife to her skin. Eyes wide and terrified, she mouthed the word "no". Within this instant, the familiar thick, heavy sound of a body falling to the ground resonated around the trees, followed by a clatter of metal.

Startled, Todd glanced over his shoulder to see a form struggling for breath on the ground, a rifle lying on the ground beside him. Lovett immediately pushed him away and leapt to her feet, massaging her throat.

"You...I didn't...you LIED."

"I..."Frowning, Todd looked from the slowly dying man, and then back to Lovett, his eyes full of bafflement and shock. He stared at Lovett as if he had never seen her before.

"Why...?" he turned back and made a vague confused gesture towards the man. "Why didn't you shoot me? Why didn't you let him...is that your solicitor? Why didn't you let him shoot me?"

"Couldn't," Lovett rasped, leaning sulkily against an oak tree. Todd marched up to her and grasped her shoulders.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded roughly. Lovett couldn't look him in the eyes, so she spoke to his chin.

"Love you."

His frown deepening, he lifted her chin and forced her to look at him.

"You would've let me kill you?"

"I don't know, I wasn't thinking-" the confused cry was cut short as Todd pressed his lips to hers, not demanding or wanton, but soft, sensuous and _loving._ Lovett quivered as he held her face gently in his palms. When he pulled away, her expression was full of a childlike sadness, her eyebrows drawn together.

"How can I trust you? Ever?"

"Perhaps you can't," Todd admitted. "But we aren't trusting creatures, you and I."

Lovett bit her lip. He let out a small sigh.

"Wait," he ordered quietly, and then walked a few feet off the road to a soft patch of ground. Slowly, he drew his wedding ring off his finger and let it lay in his palm for a moment, watching the tarnished white gold shimmer dimly in the cold afternoon sun. Then, slowly, but without hesitation, he knelt down, swept up a handful of dirt and set the ring in the small indentation he had made in the earth. As if throwing soil on a grave, he covered it completely. Then, brushing off his hands, he rose and returned to where Lovett stood waiting. She smiled at him, mollified and sad at the same time. She understood now the enormous effort it had cost him; she had never been in love before, after all.

Looping his arm around her waist, Todd kiss her skin where he had nicked it with the blade. A soft moan floated up from behind them.

"Eleanor..."

Lovett grimaced and turned around. Todd followed her as she trudged up to where Norwood lay, a bloody wound in his chest. Kneeling down, Lovett looking into her lawyer's pathetic eyes.

"It seems we shan't be married after all, Mr. Norwood."

He couldn't articulate a reply, but a small whimper escaped him. A gurgling noise rose from his throat as he tried to breathe.

Lovett glanced up at Todd, who shrugged and stroked the back of her neck. Wordlessly, she reached for the rose coloured handkerchief from Norwood's pocket. Carefully, she placed it over his mouth and nose and held it there, her frame twitching slightly with each jerking movement as Norwood struggled. Todd tilted Lovett's head up and crushed his lips to hers as she suffocated the hapless solicitor. Norwood's tear-blurred sight was beginning to fade, but the vision of this monster of a man kissing the woman he loved, kissing her with such wantonness and need would stay with him into the afterlife.

When the deed was done, the pair relieved Norwood's body of all valuables. Together, they rolled the corpse into a nearby ravine, and kissed with shameless passion while it sank into the mire.


	11. A Reluctant Hostess

By the time an exhausted and defeated Sir Inspector Blunt arrived at his Streatham home, the damage Sweeney Todd had done in London had been better assessed. A lord and lady by the name of Irving had disappeared, Norwood was missing and presumed dead, and Michael Oberlin's body had been discovered that morning, his stomach split down the middle and his various internal organs extracted and displayed around the room. Additionally, the token sentry that he had ordered to man the prison had been murdered on the concourse. Tobias Reginald was frightened, but guards had been left for his protection. No one expected Todd to resurface in the south, but then, Blunt had to admit that he could not predict the man. The entire department was under siege by the press. Thanks to Morgan Quinn, the newspaper district was now howling about incompetence and corruption to the point of distraction.

Without a clue as to where to begin, no idea how to organize a search effort, and virtually no inkling of what to do about the press, Blunt finally opted to do the only sensible thing: he went to bed at once.

--

Upon his arrival, Anthony had found his charges huddled together by the side of the road, laughing and sharing kisses. He got down from the driver's seat of the coach.

"Ahoy there! Mr. Todd?"

"Anthony. How lovely to see you." Todd drawled, a faraway look in his eye. Anthony silently took note of his ruffled hair (which was normally immaculate) and the redness of Lovett's face as she pressed against him. One of his arms was wound possessively around her waist.

"Mr. Todd, the countryside is lousy with warrant posters."

"Is it? Good likeness, I hope."

Lovett giggled. Swaying like drunks, they climbed into the chaise. Anthony stared in their direction for a full minute, before shrugging, climbing back onto the coach, and laying the whip to the horses.

The drive was long and dull, and Todd and Lovett didn't dare leave the coach for fear of discovery. Anthony managed provisions well enough, and Todd found himself spending the majority of the two day drive asleep in Lovett's arms. She herself was unusually taciturn, but months of sleeping on stone had been less than restful. They were both quite satisfied to doze.

Anthony, on the other hand, found little rest. For one of his youth and vigour, the patience that the whole operation had required was more exhausting than anything. He did little sleeping, considering it his responsibility to watch sentry over the coach during the depths of night. Todd tried vaguely to dissuade him, but to no avail.

Something about his friend had changed. The attention Todd lavished on Lovett was improbably affectionate; out of character for what Anthony had thought was a very stern, stoic and sometimes caustic man. He lacked no authority, nor any of the mystery that Anthony had first perceived upon their watery introduction, but a tenderness seemed to be growing upon him. Perhaps it was for the best.

Late at night, they chanced a quick wash in a frigid tributary stream while Anthony stood guard some distance away. Lovett returned to the coach to sleep, but Todd chose to linger out in the cool February air for a few moments.

"I owe you thanks, Anthony. I know it cost you to help me," he said quietly as he lit his pipe, offering it to Anthony, who modestly refused.

"Nonsense, Mr. Todd. After all you did for me, it was only fair."

Todd leaned against the coach and stared across the misty moor. "You sound tired. I'd offer to drive, but..."

"No, no," Anthony protested with a yawn. "It's a different weariness. I can't quite explain it. I feel better about leaving London behind, though. It's so much crueler now than when I left it. But I was barely sixteen then, and I had my mum, too. Do you have any family, Mr. Todd?"

"I had a wife once. My daughter, well...I expect she's grown now, but I've been away so long..."

"Mr. Todd, may I ask you something?"

Todd took a draw off the pipe. "I can't promise you an answer."

"When we first arrived, you told me about a beautiful woman who had been...well, you know. Were you speaking of your wife?"

"I was."

"And the...you said, a judge..."

Todd clapped a hand to Anthony's shoulder.

"There are some things you cannot understand, Anthony. Maybe some day, I will tell you the whole story, but not today."

Anthony nodded, accepting this. He began to clamber back up to the driver's eat, while Todd went to join Lovett.

"One more thing, Mr. Todd?" Anthony asked quickly. Hanging halfway out of the coach, Todd paused and cocked his head.

"Your daughter? Do you know where she is?"

"Ah," Todd smiled rather ironically. "I hear she resides up Plymouth way, in your area. I should think I'll be seeing her soon enough."

"Well, that's good, then. Goodnight, Mr. Todd."

"Goodnight, Anthony."

Todd ducked back into the cab, curling in against a sleeping Lovett, and they started off again. Anthony sighed, fighting his exhaustion. His friend, whom he had thought he understood, was becoming more mysterious by the moment. But there would be plenty of time to think of it later- they would be in Plymouth before sunrise.

--

Johanna clutched a white fur wrap to herself to stave off the chill. She stood a solitary watch at the top of the sweeping stairs that led up to the house. Rooms had been prepared for her guests, but her apprehension had not abated. It increased as she spied the coach at the end of the drive. It halted on the far end of the cul-de-sac and the driver leapt off the perch and waved vigorously. Smiling to herself, Johanna raised a patient hand to her buoyant husband.

Her attention then turned to the long limbed figure unfolding itself from the back of the cab. Dressed in the wrinkled garb of a gentleman, Sweeney Todd appraised his surroundings. He moved slowly, but with a predatory kind of grace that reminded her of a panther she had seen at the London Zoological Gardens when she was very small. As his gaze fell upon her, she wanted to draw into herself and disappear. His gaze wasn't terrible, but there was something eerie about that wistful half-smile she could barely make out from her vantage point. After what seemed an eternity, he turned back towards the cab and offered his hand to a woman with fiery red hair, clad in a rich maroon velvet wrap.

Mrs. Lovett shivered slightly, and Todd wrapped an arm around her shoulders while Anthony ushered them across the roundabout.

As they approached, Todd was rapt, eyes glued to the willowy form of his daughter. His breath caught in his throat. Lovett tightened her grip on his arm reassuringly.

"She looks like you," she whispered. He nodded his assent mutely. She certainly had her father's straight nose and high arched eyebrows. Her blonde curls were pinned back, wisps of hair framing her face. Upon closer inspection, Todd could find very little of her mother's warmth in her- only the wan ghostliness that faced him in the mirror every morning. In some ways, her coldness was a mercy, giving him relief from thoughts of Lucy.

_Don't think on it. _

"Mrs. Hope, I presume," he said quietly upon stepping up to the threshold.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Todd," she said briskly, and then turned to Lovett. "And you, Mrs. Lovett. I hope your journey wasn't too uncomfortable."

Lovett looked at Todd and smiled. "Tolerable."

Anthony trundled up the steps behind them, his eyes red with exhaustion. "Johanna, darling, why don't you show our guests in?"

"Yes, please come in."

Todd and Lovett allowed themselves to be ushered into the foyer. Todd promptly began an examination of the cream coloured decor, finding it to be rich, but not pretentious. Money that had no doubt come from the late Judge Turpin's coffers. The idea gave him a pleasurable pause and he grinned to himself.

"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Hope."

Her expression was not altogether dissimilar to his, he noticed as a small flash of savage delight presented itself on her delicate features.

"Thank you, Mr. Todd, although neither myself or my husband are responsible for its acquisition," she said airily as she led them into the lounge. Todd and Lovett glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

"You're not at all sorry about the Judge's death, then?" Todd inquired while behind them Anthony made a small choking sound.

Johanna smiled a frigid smile. "I think people should be honest about their doings and feelings, don't you, Mr. Todd?"

Todd's glare was clear and penetrating.

"If you say so, Mrs. Hope," he replied monotonously, while Lovett looked on apprehensively.

"I should like you to call me Johanna. We are friends, are we not?"

A strained smile appeared on his face. "If it pleases you...Johanna."

He did not invite her to call him by his first name. He was more accustomed to Benjamin or Mr. Todd, anyway.

"I'm sure you're both weary. Hot baths are waiting for you upstairs, and your beds..." Johanna paused, noting the way Lovett's arm rested in his. "That is to say, your bed is ready."

"That is most kind, Johanna, dear," Lovett said graciously. "It's been so long since we've had a proper bed..."

"I expect you are very tired then, indeed. Will you be down for lunch?"

"I should think so," Todd replied, stroking Lovett's hand.

"Then upstairs with you both." Johanna insisted. Whether or not they were murderers, she couldn't help but notice the curious, cautious affection between them. They weren't so very different than her and Anthony.

"I think I should like to go to bed too, my dear," Anthony yawned, kissing his wife's forehead. "And I daresay I won't be down for lunch."

With that, he turned and began the long journey up the staircase.

Todd cast a small smile at Johanna, who tried to smile back sincerely and failed. Then, he and his mistress followed Anthony, disappearing up the stairs.


	12. Guilty

It wasn't too long before the noon hour struck in the bell tower of the nearby church. Lovett could not be roused, so Todd kissed her cheek, and left her snoring gently, naked on the duvet. Having spent so long in darkness, the muted sunlit room was harsh on his eyes, even with the thin shades drawn. On the bureau lay fresh clothes, folded neatly and spotlessly clean. He picked up the fine white lawn shirt and pulled it over his head, letting it fall across his muscled frame. The black silk trousers were equally fine and just as comfortable.

He checked his reflection in the mirror. His face had lost nothing of its dour forbiddingness, but now with a shaved chin and combed hair, he at least looked more respectable. Shrugging on a black vest , he made his way down the stairs, tying a black silk cravat as he went.

Johanna was having a solitary cup of tea on the ottoman, a black case lying on the table in front of her. It was an unremarkable case: cracked black leather with brass trim. But Todd recognized it immediately.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Todd," Johanna said quietly. "Mrs. Lovett won't be joining us?"

"Still abed," Todd replied, sinking back into a chair, stretching out his long legs. "I think she appreciates the luxuries more than I do. But then, I have spent so many years without comforts, I have nearly forgotten any appreciation of them."

"Well, I hope that you will be able to enjoy comforts again," Johanna said, staring down into her milky tea. "I myself am still quite unused to being mistress of my own house."

"I can't imagine Anthony is a great help," Todd said wryly.

Despite herself, Johanna let out a small chuckle. "No, he isn't. He's so brash. But it's better this way- he doesn't try to rule over me. I don't think he ever will."

"A mercy, then," Todd agreed, and then eyed the black case on the table. "Tell me, do my eyes deceive me, or is that.."

"Oh, yes!" Johanna set down her teacup and saucer, and reached for the case. "Anthony found them after your arrest."

He took the proffered case, his eyes alight with pleasure as he opened it and examined the contents.

"My razors. Thank you...for keeping them, I mean."

"They're fine tools, to be sure," Johanna said softly, watching as he reverently unfolded one of the chased silver blades.

"The finest," Todd said, staring down at them, a small smile coming to his lips. "They used to belong to my father, you know. They've been in our...that is to say, my family for generations."

"My father, I'm told, was a barber."

Todd felt himself tighten. He glanced up into the wintery face of his daughter. The flicker of hopefulness that crossed his features went unnoticed.

"Though, he died a long time ago. Drowned, they say, off the coast of Australia."

"I see." Todd said monotonously. "How very sad for you."

Johanna shrugged. "I suppose. I don't remember him at all well. All I have is part of a photograph."

She went over to a lamp stand and picked up a small photograph in a brass frame, turned and offered it to him.

Intrigued, Todd took it, his eyebrows knit as he stared down at the frame's occupant with a sense of disdain. It was half of his wedding photograph. The man who smiled up at him was skinny and weak looking, full of an earnest sincerity that was almost laughable now. The happy, self-satisfied expression reminded him of Anthony when they had first met. The man in the picture was naive and carefree, lacking the physical and mental strength he had acquired through long years of torment. Looking at the photograph was a small revelation of sorts: despite the happiness he had possessed before, despite so many regrets, he did not really want to go back to being smiling, scrawny little Benjamin Barker.

"I think your father would have been very proud of you," he said in an undertone, handing the photograph back to his daughter. "Proud that you have done better in your life than he, better than he could have ever dreamed."

"Why do you say that?" Johanna asked, bemused. She clutched the picture to her chest.

"Are you happy, Johanna?"

"I..." she frowned. "I don't know. I was happy to leave London. I think I shall be happy in the months to come. I never really thought about it."

"You're young. But not foolish. You have time." Todd's expression was unreadable. "Not like your father."

Full of confusion, Johanna stood up and returned the photograph to its stand, and then sat back down again.

"Did you know him, Mr. Todd?"

Todd's smile was a strange one, both amused and painful. "I knew him quite well, actually. He was...he used to be a good man. But he was kind when he shouldn't have been, and he lost everything." His expression darkened. "Perhaps it is better that you did not know him. Suffering can do things to the soul, turn it irreparably sour. I don't think he would be the same man. Certainly not fit to call himself your father."

Johanna's frown deepened. "I cannot believe that. I think if anything, I would not be a suitable daughter. I have done...unforgivable things. For my own survival."

"I cannot stand in judgement, Johanna," Todd said darkly, thinking of Turpin. "I will not pretend my life has been without grievous sin. I do not plan to darken your doorstep for long."

"Did you murder those people, Mr. Todd?" Johanna asked, full of a fearful desperation.

Todd cocked his head and a sickly smile crept onto his features. "You would be better off not knowing, my dear. No one is innocent. Not you, not your father, not me," he rose slowly, noting the way she drew back ever so slightly. "Certainly not the Judge, nor his Beadle. This world has no room for purity and goodness. All innocents turn guilty eventually. Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts: they will only bring you grief." Todd paused, tilted his head, a curious sadness changing his expression. "I would prefer to see you happy."

Johanna sat back in her chair, watching him with eyes full of suspicion. If she believed her instincts- and the stories- here sat a man who had glorified in violence, glutted in blood and perpetrated murder most foul. And yet, he was wishing for her happiness.

Before she could form a reply, Mrs. Lovett appeared at the parlour entrance.

"Ah, hello, dears. Miss Johanna, I must say, you have been so kind to offer us houseroom. I feel more rested than I have done in weeks."

"You're very welcome, Mrs. Lovett," Johanna breathed, trying to force down her panic. Mrs. Lovett may have been chock-full of social sweetness, but Todd's soft-spoken demeanour frightened her. It frightened her more than the Judge's attentions. Beneath the surface of his calm exterior, she could sense a malice more dangerous and intelligent than she had ever encountered. For some reason, the quiet snake-in-the-grass way in which he spoke her reminded her of the sound of murder in his voice when he had chased her out of his tonsorial parlour. Brandishing the very same straight razor that he now held clenched in his fist. She distinctly remembered the blood-stained blade as it flashed in the twilight, thirsting for her neck.

The close way in which he was studying her now made her wonder: did he recognize her?

Mrs. Lovett glanced at Todd, who made a tiny shrug.

"Pleased do sit down, Mrs. Lovett," Johanna said quickly, her voice unnaturally high.

Lovett sat down next to Todd, who looped a casual arm around her shoulders.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"I shouldn't think so," Todd said quietly, a small wicked smile crossing his lips. "We were just discussing the past. Weren't we,_ Johanna_?"

"What? Oh, yes, the past," Johanna babbled, scandalized. "You know, I really must go down to the kitchens and see that dinner is started, it's getting so awfully late."

She leapt off the ottoman, dry washing her hands as she hurried out of the parlour.

His moment of fun now over, Todd felt a tremendous weariness overtake him. He bent over and rested his face his in his hands. Lovett wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he gripped her wrist for comfort.

"What are you thinking, my love?" she asked quietly.

"She suspects," Todd replied, lifting his head. "She knows something."

"Tell her the truth?" Lovett suggested. Todd gave her a sideways look. "That would disastrous."

"Some of the truth, then. She deserves that, don't you think?"

"She deserves better."

"Let her make up her own mind."

A week ago, Todd might've snapped at her. Instead, he smiled wistfully and pressed a soft, slow kiss to her lips. When it ended, Lovett sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. Even now, Todd marvelled at the comfort her took in her presence. Even with Lucy, he had been too astounded by his good fortune to ever quite believe she was his. And their time together had been so short. He didn't want to think of it now.

With Lovett, he had made his own luck. Now he would have to make his own luck with Johanna, before she discovered the truth on her own.

Anthony wandered into the parlour, his eyes bleary and his hair ruffled. His dressing gown sagged about the chest as he sat down.

"Where has Johanna got to, do you know?" he asked sleepily, leaning back on the couch.

"She said something about dinner," Todd offered, stroking Lovett's hair as she lazed against him.

"Dinner?" Anthony repeated blankly. "It's barely 1 o'clock."

--

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in silent lounging. When dinner finally did come around, it was a silent affair. Todd, Lovett and Anthony were mainly concerned with eating, none of them having had a proper meal for a very long time. Johanna, on the other hand, picked at her plate, studying Todd. Eating quickly, but politely, he seemed not much different than any other man. He was ambidextrous with his knife and fork, she noticed, a trait that she shared. He also nearly always kept his linen napkin clutched in his knife hand, again, one of her habits.

It brought back a vague memory from the past. One of her mother and father.

_She could recall a kindly face, and hands that dwarfed her own. She remembered learning knife and fork. Mother was proud- surely little Jo-Jing was the only babe on the block who could manage herself during dinner. Papa never spoke to her as if she were a child. He would never mock her nonsense syllables, but would demurely agree with whatever she'd said. _

The doorbell gave a resounding ring, shaking her from her reverie. She immediately jumped up.

"Oh, the Evening Gazette. I'll just go and get it, shall I?"

There were distracted nods of assent. Johanna made her way out of the dinning room and hastened to the front door. She paid the delivery boy and accepted the thin issue.

The Evening Gazette was something of a rag- normally concerned with society and reputations and the like, and had the paper not been free, Johanna wouldn't have bothered to subscribe. But today, the headline was different.

_Demon Barber Escapes Newgate!_

A shudder of dread ran through Johanna. Surely it was referring to her house guests. Glancing back in the direction of the kitchen, she hurriedly sat down and pulled open the paper.

_Fleet Street Scourge Escapes with Mistress_

_Half past 11, London_

_The mysterious escape of two notorious criminals, Mr. Sweeney Todd, and Mrs. Eleanor Lovett, has been baffling the police for the past three days. The two are attributed with at least four deaths within the past few months and are thought to be responsible for countless disappearances that have been plaguing the Temple Bar area. _

_Little has been disclosed about Mr. Todd other than a physical description- he is approximately 201 centimetres tall, strongly built with light blue eyes and very dark hair. Mrs. Lovett, additionally, is a trim 174 centimetres tall, with red hair and hazel eyes._

_Individuals with information about either Mr. Todd or Mrs. Lovett are encouraged to come forward. We respectfully remind all persons to avoid approaching either of them, as Mr. Todd is most assuredly armed and dangerous, and admitted killer of Judge Thomas Turpin. There is a 1,000 pound reward for information leading to the arrest of either felon. It is believed the pair is in Sussex region, and may be attempting to flee the country._

Quivering, Johanna set down the paper.

_Admitted killer of Judge Turpin._

The rest of the report was unnerving, but lacked solidity. But admitted killer? Could the paper be exaggerating?

Johanna immediately leapt off the couch and dashed up the stairs towards the library. A collection of newspapers lay on the reading table. Full of agitation, Johanna searched through them until she came to an issue dated November. She flipped back to the crime report section.

_Circuit Judge Murdered. Suspect in Custody_

_The body of the late Judge Thomas Turpin the Second was discovered last night in the cellar of a tenement containing Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlour and Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Shop. The two proprietors were apprehended shortly thereafter. Police reports indicate that upon their arrest, the two were found attempting to do murder upon each other. Both are believed to be involved. _

_The body of a transient woman was also found. Both victims were partially decapitated, each dying from aeroembolism. Both corpses were highly exsanguinated. A great deal of blood was found at the scene and on the clothing of the two suspects. Judge Turpin's body was noted to be wearing a barber's bib, a somewhat dubious indication of Mr. Todd's guilt. A barber's straight razor was deemed to be the murder weapon, but when police had returned to investigate the scene, there were none to be found. The judge is survived by his ward and heir, a Miss Johanna Barker. _

No more detail than that. But it was sufficient for Johanna. She immediately got up and made for the master bedroom. Throwing open the wardrobe, she shoved aside various articles of clothing until she came to a bundled handkerchief. Wrapped inside it was an old fashioned flintlock pistol. Unexamined, it looked plain a standard issue military weapon. Had Johanna bothered to inspect it closely, she might have noticed the name inlaid with brass: Cpt. Jonathan A. Barker.

She stuffed it into a pocket in one of her pale blue skirts. Stepping onto the threshold, she cautiously made her way down the stairs. By the sound of it, dinner had concluded. From the bottom of the stairs, Johanna could see Anthony adjusting the piano lid while a delighted Lovett explored the contents of a music book.

"Johanna?"

Johanna jumped and turned to see Todd standing before her with an oddly earnest expression on his face.

"Mr. Todd, you startled me!" she exclaimed, clutching her hand against her throat.

"I apologize. I wanted to speak to you in private. Perhaps the churchyard? It's a very mild evening."

Johanna opened her mouth intending to refuse, but wound up squeaking- "All right."

As they hurriedly retrieved their coats, Todd hid a grimace of displeasure. He had expected his daughter's frenetic state to have subsided by now. It would be increasingly difficult to make any kind of case for himself if she continued to act like a skittish horse.

The walk up the hill was silent. Johanna was normally very comfortable in cemeteries. She enjoyed the company of the old stones, making up little stories in her mind about the old parish members. But with Todd beside her, the familiar Plymouth markers were morbid rather than charming.

Todd leaned back against a headstone, watching her with a catlike tilt of his head. The wind whistled through the bell tower, making the bells gently clang together. Johanna felt the pistol bump slightly against her thigh and was comforted.

Wiping the moss off the top of one of the tombstones, she sat down against it and indicated the little stone church.

"They used to pay rent to the Judge's estate. As did much of the area."

"Ah," Todd said, trying to suppress the frown of contempt that was threatening to overtake his countenance.

"Anthony and I decided to sell all that land, though and buy our own home."

"Very humble of you."

"Mr. Todd, what did you want to speak to me about?"

Todd bit his lip, a gesture that perplexed Johanna. Was he _nervous_?

"Do you remember your family? At all?"

"No," Johanna said frankly. "Bits and pieces of memory, but nothing more."

"Do you regret that?" Todd asked. He was stung, but made a point to hide it.

"No, I don't. Not really. I feel I should, but Mr. Todd, I've done many things I should regret, but don't."

Todd sighed. "At least you're honest."

"What does it matter, anyway?"

Todd's eyes flashed. "It matters immensely."

Startled by his sudden anger, Johanna stood up.

"I think you're lying to me. I _can_ read, Mr. Todd," Johanna said quickly, her hand tight around the pistol.

"Have care with your words, girl," Todd warned in a low growl, rising slowly.

"You murdered those people. I know you did. The paper said you'd admitted to it."

The force of Todd's glare made her want to take a step back, but she held her ground, hand tight around the pistol.

"I was misquoted."

"It said you admitted to killing the Judge."

"Does that trouble you?"

"So you DID kill him!" Johanna accused, her voice now an angry squeak.

"Are you sorry he's dead?" Todd demanded.

"I- what? That's beside the point!"

"What is the point, Johanna?" Todd hissed, taking a step towards her. She backed into a headstone "What do you want to hear? That I killed him?" he grasped her shoulders. "That I laughed as I cleaved his neck in two with my razor, glorified in the bloodshed as his miserable evil little life spattered across my walls? Is THAT what you want to hear?"

A familiar metallic thunk met his ears, and the barrel of a flintlock pistol pressed against his chest. He looked down, and let out a small bark of laughter. For the second time in three days, a woman was aiming a pistol at him. The hilarity of the situation threatened to overtake his faculties.

"Desist, Mr. Todd." Johanna ordered, her voice breathy, the gun shaking in her hand.

"Mrs. Hope, where did you acquire that rather dangerous toy?"

"You gave it to my husband, don't you remember?"

"And do you know how to use it?" Todd asked as he sat back down on the tombstone, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, I've used it before."

"Oh, of course, the late Mr. Fogg. I didn't think Anthony had the stomach. We've both done murder, then. Can't we be friends?" The jeer hit home. Johanna's was flushed, her expression scandalized.

"It wasn't murder!" she cried.

"Of course not, nothing's ever that simple, is it, Johanna?" Todd continued, a sick smile overtaking his countenance. "Just as killing Judge Turpin wasn't murder. It was justice."

"But there were others, Mr. Todd, do you deny that?" Johanna cried, her hand now shaking more than ever. The gun's mechanisms rattled together.

"Corrupt lawyers, men who beat their wives, pimps, cutthroats, thieves, and murderers, too. Do you think the world is any better or worse for it? You're as guilty as I am, as guilty as everyone, and shooting me won't change that."

"You had no right! It's wrong, it's still-"

Without warning, Todd seized the pistol out of her hand. Johanna let out a scream of surprise.

"GIVE THAT BACK!" she demanded, her panic threatening to give way to tantrum.

"Sit down, you ninny." Todd ordered, levelling the pistol at her. Johanna's lip twitched as she dropped down onto the moist grass.

"By God, I'll kill you," she groused, glaring up at him.

"Just like your father," Todd mocked. She bristled like an enraged cat.

"My father was NOT A MURDERER!" she shouted, struggling to get to her feet. Todd crouched down in front of her, making her drop back onto her heels. He stared at her from inches away, his eyes wide and bright. "Yes, he is."

Johanna stared back at him, full of uncomprehending horror."You're lying. You're mad."

Letting out a snort of derision, Todd held up the pistol, and then shoved it into her hands before standing up.

"Look a little closer at this."

Utterly bemused Johanna quivered with apprehension as she turned the pistol over and read the name detailed on the side. The brass lettering was dull, but by no means illegible.

_Cpt. Jonathan A. Barker_

Frowning, she looked back up at Todd.

"What does this mean?"

"That pistol belonged to my grandfather. It was awarded to him for bravery during his military service. He gave it to me on my 12th birthday. I was to give it to my child, be it boy or girl, on their 12th birthday. Unfortunately, I spent your 12th birthday, and every birthday previous and thereafter incarcerated at Botany Bay."

She gaped at him, trying vainly to grasp this information. He studied her closely.

"But you can't be," Johanna said slowly, more to herself than to him. "You don't look a thing like the photograph, not at all.."

"Cameras lie," Todd said, his lips twisted into an unpleasant sneer of contempt at the thought of his past persona. "But even a broken clock is right two times a day. That is a photograph of dead man. But he didn't drown. He sold his soul for the price of vengeance."

Johanna's face was shock white, and her lower lip was trembling. Todd heaved a sigh and knelt down in front of her. Immediately, she brought the pistol to bear, holding it level with his heart. Her eyes were wide with mindless terror. Todd gently grasped the barrel of the gun, unmindful of the click as she pulled back the hammer.

"I do not want your forgiveness, Johanna. I don't need your trust, and I know better than to ask for your love. But I want you to understand."

"But..." her finger was quivering over the trigger.

"Do you remember a parlour? With all green finches and linnet birds on the wallpaper? All manner of birds. You could identify them, remember? Of course, you couldn't speak yet, but you could point them all out. Do you remember feeding the birds in Hyde Park?"

Suddenly, the memory burst open in her mind, and she let out a small gasp.

_The corner of Hyde Park was flooded with sunlight after a spring shower. The clouds were still a dark steely grey, but that slanted midday light pervaded the grassy arena, turning it an electric green. Johanna had little patience with the birds, who refused to approach her. That is, until Papa had shown her how to draw them in. _

_Papa..._

_He was tall, so very tall, but he had no objection to kneeling down in order to see things from her toddler point of view. _

"_Patience," he told her in that deep voice of his, taking a scoop of birdseed and pouring it into her chubby little palms. The wary sparrows_ _chirped and bounced closer in the manner of birds. A particularly bold one jumped into her hand and buried his little head into the birdseed. Johanna was momentarily silent with shock, but that only lasted a beat as a giggle of childish glee escaped her. The birds all leapt into the air at once in a little brown flurry. Far from causing her dismay, this sent her into a transport of delight. Her laughter resonated as her father scooped her up into his arms, his blue eyes crinkled with amusement. _

The same blue eyes that were glaring at her now from hollowed, darkened sockets. The gun dropped from her hand. Unable to speak, tears pricked in her eyes. Gently, Todd took her elbows and lifted her to her feet. He then bent down and retrieved the pistol, knocking the hammer back into its uncocked position.

"Would you like to return?" he asked softly, watching her shrewdly.

Johanna sniffed. "No. Let's walk."

Todd tucked the pistol into his belt and offered his arm. Still sniffing, Johanna took it. They made their way down the stone path, and walked towards the water.

When they arrived back at the house, Johanna and Todd found Anthony dozing lightly on the sofa, while Lovett had her nose in a copy of the Sartorial Art Journal. The latter tilted her head up to gaze up at the two. Todd was as stoic as ever, while Johanna's eyes were red. Though, she certainly seemed more restive than before.

"I was wondering when you two would get back."

"Enjoying yourself?" Todd indicated the magazine.

Lovett nodded. "I was just thinking you should do well in something a little more upper class."

"How freakishly domestic of you, Eleanor," Todd sneered. "Picking out clothes for me."

Lovett rolled her eyes and made to swat him with the magazine, but he caught it and yanked it out of her hand. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he dropped down onto the couch beside her and tugged her into his lap. Johanna covered her smile as she went over to the other sofa to wake Anthony, who was easily roused. He smiled sleepily upon seeing her face.

"Johanna, darling..." his face fell. "Have you been crying?" He glanced from her to Todd, who gave him a typical forbidding glare.

"Anthony, come upstairs. We have to talk."

Lovett watched quietly from Todd's arms, observing the energy as it shifted around the room.

"Absolutely, of course," Anthony leaned up. "It's nothing too dire, is it?"

"No, nothing too dire," Johanna said, casting a small mischievous smile at Todd, who grinned nastily. She paused on her way up the stairs and leaned down to kiss her father's smooth-shaven cheek, and then continued towards the stairs. Dreadfully confused, Anthony cast bemused looks at his wife, following her up the staircase like a bewildered puppy.

Lovett dropped her head onto Todd's shoulder, gazing up at him. "Well? How did it go?"

"Better than expected."

"Clearly."

They were immediately interrupted by a resounding exclamation from above:

"WHAT!"

Lovett looked up in the direction of the ceiling. "What are you going to do about him..?"

Todd stroked her hair, a serene smile on his face. "What any father-in-law does."

"That being?"

"Threaten to kill him."

"Ahhh."


	13. Dead and Alive

"Neither hide nor hair, Tobias, I promise," Mallory was growing tired of repeating this sentiment, but he understand the boy's concern. Toby paced across the floor, hands folded behind his back. Mallory still marvelled at the transformation from the childlike waif he had delivered here, to the academic young man preparing for university who stood before him now.

Toby paused in his pacing and regarded Mallory once again.

"You're sure?"

"Completely."

Toby dropped down into his desk chair and sighed. "Then why the letter?"

"No one is precisely sure," Mallory explained. "But we think it was a hoax, and a clever one. We underestimated Todd. He was misleading us in order to draw our forces out of London. It's been suggested that when you received that letter, Todd was still at Newgate."

Toby frowned, tapping agitated fingers against his desk blotter. "What possible reason could he have to remain there?"

"We think he and Lovett-" Toby flinched at the name, and Mallory swallowed. "They killed the guard and changed cells in the dead of night. As long as they stayed out of immediate sight, no one could have detected them. They waited until the hunt was in full swing and then broke out.

"They had to have help," Toby speculated.

"We think perhaps Mrs. Lovett's lawyer was hoodwinked in some way, that she secured funds through him, and probably managed to obtain various articles that would help them effect an escape."

"And they didn't leave London immediately, either. They stayed and murdered those people. Why?"

"I would say convenience and spite," Mallory said with a shrug. "They obviously needed different clothing than what was described on warrant posters, and the upperclass pair suited them well. As for the lawyers, I can only guess what Norwood might've done to offend them. We found him a ways out of the city- he might've caught up with them somehow. Oberlin, well...Todd had obvious reasons for wanting him dead."

"And no one knows where they are."

"I suspect they've left the country. They're beyond our reach, and you're out of their's."

"Physically, perhaps," Toby mused, glancing outside at the waving tree limbs that dominated his window. "But in my mind.."

"You mustn't think on it, Tobias," Mallory said sternly. "You shall only overexert yourself."

Toby could only nod and smile weakly. But he could not entirely supress the vision of Mrs. Lovett's reflection in Sweeney Todd's razor blade. He sighed, trying to brush off the shivering feeling. "You're right. Thank you."

"It is no trouble," Mallory said quietly, his expression softening. "You'll be at Oxford this time next year, and far away from all of this."

Toby nodded a quiet assent. But he could not shake the feeling that somehow, he was the victim of a viciously demonic joke.

--

New York, next to London, was vibrantly fresh and alive. Merchants, vendors, socialites, scholars, politicians and criminals made up the life blood that pumped throughout the city, making it a perpetual source of interesting comings and goings, doing and sayings, and even more interestingly, shootings and hangings. The underclass, far from being the dull stuporous lot that pervaded London's miserable streets, was a dazzling mix of rich intoxication, colourful decadence and violent animosity.

In any city where more money was spent on the styling of hair and the shaving of faces, a barber could prosper. And prosper, Mr. Todd and Mrs. Todd (neé Lovett) did. They immediately established themselves in the notorious Five Points, setting up shop in a three story tenement. After a brief time, they became quite accustomed to their new habitations. Todd's Parlour for Gentlemen maintained a regular (and broad) clientele, while Mrs. Todd's Pub and Eatery (Nellie's for short) did a roaring trade every night after the barber shop closed. Both were relieved to find their respective, lucrative businesses were never disturbed by the various fire brigade rivalries and gang wars that raged outside their doors.

While news of their escapades had not yet reached across the sea, Mr. And Mrs. Todd were immediately welcomed into the fold as fellow slum dwellers. Famed for their good services, they became quickly popular. Bill 'the Butcher' Poole was a frequent patron of both establishments, and a great admirer of Mr. Todd's. The latter's reputation as a dangerous and ruthless man spread after the corpse of one of the Tammany Hall aides had been found in the square, impaled through longways with a massive wrought iron meat skewer, his face slashed to ribbons and dripping with bloody lather. Whenever anyone tentatively tried to inquire as to what slight the man had committed, Mr. Todd would merely smile and make a silken, delicate remark about the weather.

Mrs. Todd, whose famous meat pies were renowned across the city, was at all times flirtatious and full of off-kilter charm. The contents of her pies (while mostly legitimate, save the occasional offender) were never revealed. She traded in gossip and good brandy, occupying her free time with the races, her garden, and primarily with her husband.

The affection displayed between the Todds was constant, lascivious and unapologetic. Lustful kissing between drinks or a quick grope against the wall was not at all uncharacteristic. Some regulars could recall the memorable occasion when an outsider had protested these attentions, and had been promptly reciprocated with the removal of his nose. Mr. and Mrs. Todd had then immediately returned to their foray behind the register, Todd's bloody hand crawling slowly but surely up his lady-wife's thigh.

In the short space of a year, Nellie's had become a haven for all manner of scoundrel. All violent disagreements (except those perpetrated by Mr. Todd) was pointedly removed to out-of-doors vicinities, while corrupt politicians would confer within the pub's smoky interior. Todd's authority was always respected. The rules of etiquette were simple, but ironclad. The residents of the Five Points did not suffer outsiders.

Johanna and Anthony Hope made a point to purchase a house on the Hudson river a little ways outside the city in addition to their English estate. While Todd and Lovett were content to visit them there (or years later, in England) the Hopes rarely frequented the Five Points, as Johanna much preferred her father in the country where he had less cause to be violent. However, when they did visit the area, Todd always welcomed them happily.

His daughter was slowly learning to accept his villainous nature. Anthony, however, could never really quell his apprehensions. The discovery that his friend was in fact a psychotic mass murderer had never sat well with him, and he flinched every time Todd so much as looked at him. Todd admitted to himself that he somewhat enjoyed terrorizing the boy. Though he never really had any designs on his son-in-law, he had found a vindictive pleasure in reminding Anthony that he was alive at his pleasure. Johanna tried in vain to dissuade him from this attitude, but Todd had never quite forgiven Anthony for marrying her without his consent. Of course, that didn't mean Todd was displeased with her choice: as annoying as the young sailor could be, he was utterly subservient to his wife, and it pleased Todd to see his daughter as a powerful woman rather than a pretty ornament.

During those brief visits, Anthony would often be found chewing on a pipe next to a gossipping former Mrs. Lovett, while Johanna and her father would discuss all manner of things during a game of cards or checkers.

Todd was notoriously protective of his daughter- it was immediately established that the Hopes were not to be troubled, nor Mrs. Hope commented upon (ever) as the one and only man to do so quickly found that his right eye had become the centre of an impromptu dartboard. Predictably, the bar's patrons ignored their fellow's screaming cries of agony and remarked on Mr. Todd's impeccable aim.

Johanna, naturally, was appalled by this behaviour, and even more appalled at her father's lackadaisical dismissal of it. He had killed with a passionate rage, and he had killed people with the same indifferent methodology as he might do a chore: these things would always trouble her.

"Sometimes I think this is the edge of civilization," she remarked one night to Mrs. Todd. Twenty feet away, their respective menfolk played billiards.

"Oh, not at all," Mrs. Todd replied, rolling a slim cigarette. "It is the beginning, you might say. Your father is set in his ways, and he is a demon, to be sure. But he gets what he wants, and that isn't any less civilized."

"I don't know what you mean, Eleanor," Johanna said demurely as she watched Todd sink a striped ball.

"He's out of place in your world. In your world, men with less money are ruled by men with more. In ours, men are whoever they choose to be. And the man with the most power is the man who is willing to do what no one else is." Mrs. Todd tapped the ash off her cigarette. "Put it this way. Mr. T put a dent in that man's eye. But now the boldest rogue in the Points wouldn't dare to even blink in your direction."

"That is dreadfully barbaric logic."

"Men are dreadful villains. No matter where you are."

Johanna sighed. "And my father is the most dreadful of them all."

Mrs. Todd smiled in the direction of her husband. "It is lucky for us that is true, Johanna. We should have had a very bad time of it, indeed, without him."

Johanna heaved another sigh as she watched an agitated Anthony gesticulate frantically while he and Todd contested a scratch. After one incredulous arch of the latter's eyebrow, the matter was quickly resolved and the game resumed. In Todd's favour, of course.

Without really thinking about it, Johanna reached across the table and took one of Mrs. Todd's cigarette papers and a pinch of tobacco. She rolled it up and lit it, leaning back against the booth as she took a long drag. The vision of her father's strong back was fogged by thin curling smoke. It cleared slowly as he turned, and his normally dour visage broke into a fond smile. Unable to help herself, Johanna smiled back.

--

In London, things ran as smoothly as they ever had. Sir Richard Blunt was found guilty of fraudulence and corruption, and was sentenced to fifteen years hard labour at Botany Bay. The judges were pointedly harsh on account of the fact that Blunt had allowed the story of Turpin's blatant abuses of power to leak, bringing social havoc upon them all. In order to mollify the press, a high ranking officer had to be made an example of. But before he could be extradited, Blunt was found hanged in his cell, an exquisitely printed brochure for Todd's New York Parlour for Gentlemen lying beneath his feet.

--

Tobias Reginald was rising quickly to academic greatness, but he still suffered nightmares on a regular basis. As an attempt to clarify his emotions, he had assigned himself an ongoing narrative of his experiences. Toby found relief in the work, finding the trauma eased by methodical analysis. Growing to over two hundred pages, it had become something of a thesis. His teachers encouraged him to publish it, but he preferred to keep it private, at least for the moment. Although he did plan to release it someday, if only to combat Morgan Quinn's extensive and gaudy essays.

In his spare time, Toby immersed himself in all manner of books. He attended plays quite frequently: Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw being his favourite of the contemporaries. He adored Shakespeare as well, and had an astounding memory for lyrical verse. He was fonder of the spoken word out of all academia and planned for a career in journalism, hoping to bring some credibility and intelligence to the form. No attempts by his peers or his tutors could dissuade him: he felt he would serve best in the world by telling the truth.

During the summer heatwaves of July, Toby might be found down at the embankments, his nose buried in a book. He might share a smile with one of the beautiful young women of St. Catherine's, who might be passing by.

On this particular day, he was stuck in the middle of a composition. He was sprawled out across the warm grass, bathed in the midday sun. He savoured the feeling of being warm: on the street, winter was bitterly cold, and in the summer, there had been no time or place to laze- not with the constant hunger in his stomach.

Today, he was content to lie there, his assignment resting on his chest as he listened to the blue river eddy along its course with its cheerful watery intonations. As a faint breeze wafted over him, he opened his eyes, slid his papers and pencil case to the side and rolled onto his stomach, examining the grassy slope. The entire hillside was illuminated by sunshine, and Toby soon spied Thom, the mail boy, scuttling down the slope with his mail bag slung over his shoulder.

Toby always made a point to be kind to Thom: the boy was from the same class as he, and Toby was proud of his heritage while others might have done their best to forget it. He had decided it was testament to his ability to persevere. He reminded Thom often that he too could make the same advancements through hard work and schooling, though his advice often fell on deaf ears, the boy's young mind being dominated by which penny dreadful novel he would purchase next.

Thom was responsible for delivering Toby's monthly stipend and was pleased to do so, as he always received a handsome tip. Today, however, the sandy haired boy lifted not an envelope from his bag, but a thick package.

"Someone dropped this for you last night. From America, no less!" Thom said excitedly as Toby accepted the package from him and examined it. There was no return address, but the post stamp read 'New York'.

"Thank you, Thom," Toby said distractedly, fishing out a one pound coin. Thom took it gleefully.

"Thankin' you kindly, Master Reginald."

He scampered away, clutching the coin tightly to his chest.

Toby assessed the package. It was unremarkable, bulky, though not weighty. Its contents were pliable and soft. Full of a strange apprehension, he unwrapped it, tearing away at parchment and white tissue paper, until at length, a red muffler tumbled out. A small shudder went through him. It was soft, fine wool, neatly assembled in perfect rows. Trembling, he set it down on his lap.

He saw in his mind's eye Mrs. Lovett, demonstrating the proper way to roll dough. He could feel the supple yeast in the palm of his hand, the flour between his fingers. He could sense that unearthly presence even before the tobacco smoke reached his nose. It was as if they were there again. Mr. Todd would so casually rest a hand on Lovett's shoulder, while she would continue instructing him, her smile growing a fraction. Those telltale signs that had persisted early in their collaboration would be there- small red flecks on Todd's shirt and vest, and the daubs of dried brown on Lovett's apron . After a short while, they had disappeared completely, which had confused Toby at the time. He knew now that it was an indication of the pair's improvement at their favourite sport: killing.

Oh, those sickly sweet moments when she had first proffered the very same muffler. She rocked him like a babe, promised him no one would harm him. All the while, the scent of blood and tobacco smoke clouded his mind, reassuring him that he would die tonight.

Toby lifted the muffler to his nose again, and identified those same terrifying scents: blood, tobacco and rose water.

He remembered those heady days when Mrs. Lovett would order him to attend to the customers. He remembered Mr. Todd sending him to the butcher's to get his blades sharpened. He remembered the warmth of the oven and Lovett's smoky singing voice as she reeled through quaint and ridiculous parlour songs, each a ludicrous little lullaby bringing him closer to sleep. He remembered the atrocious pounding from the battle above as he crouched in the cellar beneath the trap door, trying with all his might to block out Todd's roar of fury, even as it reached into his very heart, threatening to halt it altogether.

Where were they now? Tussling in the streets of New York, still trying to kill each other? Or were they prospering somewhere in the higher reaches of that fantastical city? Were they as gentrified as he was, or were they poor? Did they wish him ill? Were they planning his demise?

Were they laughing at him?

Toby owed everything to them, and they in turn, persisted thanks only to his childish fears. The irony was as keenly sharp as a papercut. Staring down at the thick wool, he heaved a sigh, and began to scale the bank down to the river. Rolling the muffler into a ball, he flung it into the water.

It clung to the surface for long minutes before starting a slow descent. Even under the surface, the muffler's colour was bright and visible, corrupting the normally pure waters. It was the perfect image of bloodshed, as if a razor had delved into the skin of the river and torn it asunder. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the undertow sucked it away, leaving Toby with only the memory, and a heavy heart. For he could not help but feel that some of that blood was on his hands, too.

Shaking off the vision, Toby turned away and trudged up the slope, determined to return his thoughts the world of the living: the bright sunshine, the laughter of the girls across the river. All the things that made his life worthwhile were waiting for him in the coming years, all the things that would remind him constantly of how far removed he was from Fleet Street.

_Dwell on demons no longer._

Yards away, in his gentile top hat and black silk waistcoat, Sweeney Todd stood at ease, one hand resting on the top of his eagle-headed gentleman's cane, the other holding a pair of spotless white gloves. Idly, he observed his quarry, comfortably invisible in the garb of the upperclass. Silently, he perceived Tobias' contemplations, watched the emotions pass across the boy's face, and then the grim determination as he threw the muffler into the river. Satisfied, he smiled his death's head smile and turned away, of a mind to set sail for New York within the hour.

Fin


End file.
